there is something like loose damage around the eyes, seeped into bone marrow. the prison warriors which have guarded before with white tigers elevated above the ground in cages grown with emptiness. and in order to climb up high we have to survey the room braided with walls, and grown with emptiness. The walls resemble the second floor of an escher obelisk, but tiers added and aggrandized. the vanishing point of the world is around me on all sides. the roof is raised to resemble the sky, from which tumbles salvation in the form of a red airplane. It has been hours since, in order to free the prisoners, you braved lava and heights… In dreams, there is always a predator pressing in from behind, it fills the world with thrust scared into bravery. but the splendidness of the bravery is a fake. and in every pore of this dream world, is an eternal abyss, light. Maybe that is why everyone is singing the same song, they have stepped out of their dungeons, they have learned how to sit in trees, and they have stopped practicing the piano. In an airplane, we can get the best idea of what an “everyone” looks like. And we best defeat prisons when we inherit wings. Salvation in the form of flight. I wanted to run toward a roaring silence which would pulse my blood in suspension of flight. I wanted to sing my blood throwing it into the air, myself. But this kind of flying is blissful. I am too afraid of living this maximum self… with nothing to fight, only falling and falling in place. I liked it better when I was selfish!!! Can I say this? I liked it better when I was selfish. In my cloister reddened with struggle, I could say that while my masquerade erased the light from behind the pores of life, that my failure described pure forms… platonic willingness… and from inside the throat of a bended body, there is a labyrinth that i can run, one that i know will end in an ending whether i manage to get out or not.
