Circadian Ruin.
When the days are ice ages, when the hours are busting a gut, when every minute is counted against itself; whither respite, whither introspection, whither the myth of destination?
Not even including your state-sanctioned rights, barring the half-manifested leavings of your tachyon dreams, never mind the turning of the wheel or the lazy drawl of Ra's charter or the single beat of the ten thousand year-old tom-tom.
The freight train that ferries your brethren from one camp to another. The passenger flight with a belly full of angst and freedom woes and six degrees of dialecta. The incestuous family tree of byways, stitched to desert hems and forest panels, turgid with invisible generations of absent refugees.
Memory fades like tap water, the self is wash-worn through, not even the pull of the moon can tie together the onesies and twosies that come away like dandelion fronds.
Soon you'll be leaving this place, soon you'll find another path by touch, and there will be no more pain, no more ennui, no more toil.
One bird to wake them, one cat to follow. One tone to lure the masses, one pulse to guide them. One fish to feed them, one draught to slake them, one word to command them.
And in the baby's blanket bind them.
⎋
Not even including your state-sanctioned rights, barring the half-manifested leavings of your tachyon dreams, never mind the turning of the wheel or the lazy drawl of Ra's charter or the single beat of the ten thousand year-old tom-tom.
The freight train that ferries your brethren from one camp to another. The passenger flight with a belly full of angst and freedom woes and six degrees of dialecta. The incestuous family tree of byways, stitched to desert hems and forest panels, turgid with invisible generations of absent refugees.
Memory fades like tap water, the self is wash-worn through, not even the pull of the moon can tie together the onesies and twosies that come away like dandelion fronds.
Soon you'll be leaving this place, soon you'll find another path by touch, and there will be no more pain, no more ennui, no more toil.
One bird to wake them, one cat to follow. One tone to lure the masses, one pulse to guide them. One fish to feed them, one draught to slake them, one word to command them.
And in the baby's blanket bind them.
⎋