this ink is only a river of my perception.

hello vortex of intricacies, rationalised with your presence! these days, my true nature is lending herself in a gesture of offbeat rhythm no second a twin to the next. i am a beat, only an erratic melody following the only path she knows. there is RGB in abundance swirling in between the interrupting scenes and hollow spaces, between my heavy eyelids that are not quite closed. this morning, i caught the red spotlight hovering in the sky: the sun, young in the morning awoke me from REM as i stumbled to get into line.

so then i speak like Alice: dear sir, could you paint my perfect illusion? draw my heart and paint me as the schizophrenic case of disillusioned hallucination standing alone in the centre of the world in its' catatonic phases. i am moving. indeed i am!; and they cannot! to breathe is to be devoured by colourful waterfalls in languid times. because time; time these days feels like fingers, clasped so tightly on the edge of ledges of cliffs. times are like oedipus complexes and phallus seas, wrapped in classic frediuan psycho-analytical bullshit.

so we turn the music on and we let it play .. and we let it play.. and we let it play.. and we dance around and around until the repeat parts shut our eyes from self-deceit and necessary lies that we had hoped would fix the faults in the plotlines of our stories. we let the world turn out in the manner it was meant for. and even if our song has ended and by then, the stars are still not moved to tears to fall; there will never be falling stars ever again, we will still love passionately. the light will blind us and all will be anti-climactic as we raise our hands in self-defeat, only to fall asleep and dream of a secret garden we have long forgotten.

"you look familiar", i said.