A stream of consciousness poem about streams of consciousness. |
Wandering through a cosmic field of various arranged flowers and foliage, the sky being a backdrop of utter gradual dissipation as well as the petals of flowers themselves being nothing but dynamic fragilities, in a more obvious way than this persistent, fluid gradient dream subject to human canvassing. a beautiful fabric encases a whole void of surroundings upon ascension, Until suddenly you’re simultaneously returned from a so called head space, warm pixellated sheets cover and saturate, the contrast of all unfoldings of everything you’ve ever known suddenly comes to a conclusive end, an epiphany. All the places you've ever been also at the same time permeate you the concept of places becoming just that. The entirety of your vision of entirety flooding towards and away, faces and bodies away in the fog, of foreign ground. Words sinking into the gloriousness of the things you have no choice but to witness as well as the pink difference of slightness, of winding, saturating. The industrial real, being only visual specimins of material, in a endless clear field of enshrouded ringing. |