(no subject)
Statement
The harlequins still jump and twist in their pine pajamas.
Bedsheets ripen into farceur funerary boxes. We pull our
quilts overhead and pound on them from the underside.
Happiness has always been a rivet between lunatic and
undiscerning; how?
"Who cares?"
The world seems so painfully average at first glance; it's
unappreciable without viewing it as an infinite amount of
constant, flowing actions and energies.
Look: The answer to every question or wonder that we have
is spawning all around us. The power to procreate; if this
is something we can feel ethical in taking for granted, why
do we rise every strenuous morning?
Our hearts are capable of more appreciation than our minds
could ever begin to imagine.
My world has become a bi-weekly announcement that we
can each drown all of our boredoms. We can tickle our tongues
with the feeling of understanding, every day, just why we
raise hell the way that we do.
The world is a sad place without insanity, ignorance, or just
a sheer appreciation for the fact that every single cell of our
being is alive solely out of its open cradle.