Only a hand obedient to the mind can find anything in this fuck-foresaken plane. For me, to know that countless loves and prisoners are trapped in stone is my curse, as the years tick by and my artist nature slowly chokes on pills & paperwork.
Freeing the sublime from stone, releasing the lovers and the Gods from dust and doom is the artist’s job. The Universe is a creative force and to be like the Universe is our only rebuttal. May time unwind itself and mundane turn to tuesday, where my pen will dance once more, to the beatless rhythm of god’s master plan.
Thanks, Rainey.
Gamer,
Your words are poetry. You have done what you said you couldn’t do–sounded your voice out of the predominant senselessness and silence!