There is a heaviness that comes carried by the surfacing of forgotten things into the conscious present. Memories are the death of a dreaming mind. Circles are a divine symbology of an absurd existence. Divine as they are, they stand for a sick reality! One that cares for no dreamers or travellers. The ability for a neck to revolve those degrees above 180 is not a good gift. There’s a substantial reason why horses are dressed in those look-forward-only garments on the sides of their eyes. We each need a pair for our minds. Not so much for our eyes. Travellers and dreams need necks made out of wood or cement. This is very imperative. It makes all the sense in the world that our feet are in front of our legs and not both front and back or spread around to all sides. We keep our hearts so well in the frontline, the mind is the black sheep in the family of our anatomy. How mind imagines pain and the body dies. How mind can resuscitate long dead forgotten ghosts of a hideous past into the beauty of the present and jeopardise it all. The body cannot deny shit! Melancholy and memory will never be friends. Travellers need no memories, just intuition and hope. Dreamers don’t need the ability to remember, just immeasurable powers of imagination.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Jun 2013 15:59:20 +0000
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