A little closer to the end–day by day.
Our corpses–nutrients for the earth, then rebirth.
Our souls–filaments of the Logos, then expansion of consciousness.
Trimming the Fat
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Trimming the fat," I responded.
"What do you mean?" she interrogated.
I didn't feel the need to answer her nosy question, so I just sat there, My back to her.
"What do you mean?" she repeated.
Again, I didn't feel the need to answer her nosy question, so I just sat there, My back to her.
I could feel her stare molest the wax-glossed region behind My ears, and violate the serenity in My shadow lair.
She began to cry, obviously for attention, but the malice that dwelled within Me found great pleasure in denying her that satisfaction. A discreet, reactionary smile formed on My face, as I continued to trim the fat, undisturbed.
The Rejuvenation of a Dangling Limb Within
She is a deprived little moth, lost in the night's nonchalance–spellbound from the flickering bursts and intensity of My soul's pyre.
She can't help it. She is propelled by instinct and desire.
The more I reveal, the closer she flutters. She craves My attention, she needs My illumination.
HA!
Trivial things really, what concerns Me now is My looming risk for myocardial inflammation.
I refuse to stroke flaccid relationships–it is too little, too late.
The neuropathy that numbed within has faded–a dangling limb, that will rejuvenate.
The Recurring Disenchantments of the Virtual Anomalies
During my time there, I witnessed the virtual anomalies that would squat among the thickets of the bush, binding themselves to the phantom appendages of deficient passersby.
The hosts were usually of a vacuous effusion, leaving the vectors unfulfilled and disillusioned under the mirage of love's embrace.
All the while I watched, from the shade, in quiet ambivalence.
Some creatures never learn.
Traversing the Labyrinth of My Psyche's Embrace
As I walked, I could feel the sticky residue of its vagueness adhere itself to the embryonic sprouts of hair that were germinating atop My exposed head.
The nymphets that frolicked in the cloak of its azure buttermilk mist looked on in awe as I ignored their fleshed enticements–I was a new metaphysical being that traversed the labyrinth of My psyche's embrace, with purpose.
Errantia Scortatio
