Conceptual Theivery

Tripping on closed rhythms

"How strange it is to be anything at all."
-Hijacked

Just imagine that time could
move in three dimensions.
What would we name them?

Where in that place would we
find room to exist? Would we
drift, would our dissolving
senses find a method for
becoming ever more
auto-diadactic, then
cease to percive?

Do I have to answer?

******

Shimmy shimmy

My desire for you comes in
waves, distant at first, very
much like a doppler effect.
I do my best to look the
other way, but like any good
catsrophe it draws me in

and gives me
nightmares.

*****

Remember to Swallow the Little Pink Pill

Splice imagination with a tone
spreading nature, vivid, in a
dualistic singularity. One
sylable fades into a breath built
out of a fractal breaking into
dissonance and falling back.

Entropy.

The vulgar finds it's way
alone, disconnected from from
flesh, asking for nothing less
than an expectation, a conclusion,
frustration, tied in time and
rhythm to the sunrise.

Quick. Quick. Slow.

Remember the pathological
difference in between expressions
slowly goad the visions into
existance without the chain of
observation. A beat, numbing
'reason' creating the first
and last delusion as
hyper-sensitive.

Future is irrelevent.

Steal back a minute, wait in the
stillness and the quiet
point out the
fluid and
pause for the next
hallucination.

******

For the First Pass

I will pull you out of the void,
sketch my name in code on
your skin while you hum and
oscillate and fall into a deep
madness. You may find God
in the space outside reverb,
after thought, the last place
touched catiously.

Fierce with the next motion
stiring the stillness, creating
infinite shades of nebular
blues and purples and pinks,
used for tracing outlines of
the unknown. Your lips,
your spine blur into the the
sound of star-dust.

You flow back into the the
convex space, trade
the echos for
echos.