The raging winds, so wild and furious, blast the savage landscape. Stars flickering in the midnight sky. What is midnight anyway? When does night start and finish and who determines its middle? A dog roams aimlessly around the lake. It stops to see its reflection in the water but the wind distorts the picture on the wall hangs slightly to the left. Not enough for the human eye to pick up but I know it’s there… watching… studying… Staring as the dog runs away to catch a bird that isn’t there. The stars reappear from a vision they never left but were temporarily misplaced on a branch that sways violently in the wind. Only one… The rest remain dormant. Whispers that I never hear yet always aware of, echo, somewhere, deep within my mind a tree represents; a tree. Hey dog get that cat and kill it, devour it, defecate its hollow screams. The artificial lights glow on the night horizon. What is artificial about them? Light is either there or it is not. Light is not fake. Or is it? What if it is; what else is then fake? Flower pots turn into heads and grow bodies and kill me but I am not dead. I have challenged death and escaped its cold ever inviting tentacles. The wind gets intense and blows me into a state of confusion. What do I do? I don’t know, why ask me? Because I are myself am I not… Am I fake? How would I know? The cold air chills my body as my absent heart beats to the sound of ice freeing itself from the conformity of a glacier only to become a berg. The plane falls horizontally through the sky seeking the edge of existence. If I was to stand on the south-pole and jump up, when would I be high enough to start going down? When I leave the Earth’s atmosphere will I be going up, or down. Who decided that the south is at the bottom and not the top of where all things that ever were are hidden from whatever will be. Why is something that is green, green? Why couldn’t green be called red or even frog? I think, therefore I am; a thinker. Why; a single worded question, boring in its approach yet infinite in its possibilities. The stars reappear, once again from the vision they still haven’t left. The wind has calmed but blows even more ferociously into the battered land. Hey dog, did you get the cat? How was I supposed to know that sanity is an illusion created by an insane world.
A world of boxes
We live in a world of boxes. Our houses are boxes. Our cars are boxes. Everything comes in boxes. Everything goes in boxes. Moving in