thoughts on current bs

in the country of the last things, marked by the depthless darkness surfacing the streets and corners, people sit on the steps, wrapping themselves in paper blankets, tattered by the elements, announcing their origins in discontinous letters that most have forgotten to recognize. the letters represent symbolic / hieroglyphic times when people had enough to eat, when people had the concept of leisure which allowed them to engage in abstract communication through artistic representations of their inner selves. now the papers are mostly used for fuel, their symbolic content dismissed and uncomprehended. this is how at times the humanity looked upon the patterns present in nature. Glory Hole uncomprehending, making use of them as natural resources, to be burned, cut down, refined into liquids that motorized vehicles can explode in their ignition chambers.

beautiful weather here, 70 degrees, happy people. and all day i've been plagued by the visions of rotting corpse buried under the epitaph -- a loving father... i haven't visited his grave since the funeral. last night i had the same dream. rain was dripping down onto his face, penetrating the earth, the casket and the dark air around him.

i look out the window. i am impressed by the brilliance of the sun. warmth. only outside.