All These Spiders Spin Webs
Oh, the compelling narratives we weave and wonder about … how slick, how silken … all are mobile truths made of soap bubbles and steam, slyly written on cobwebs in the dew-drenched darkness.
A hint of thyme, local honey and turpentine, with a pinch of violets and posies, over just enough truth not to be 100% false. Lies will tantalize. If they toss a treat-shaped puzzle piece, a treat disposal-shaped mouth will fit pegs to indents. Scooby. Snack. Heavy.
I’m awake, and if you’re dreaming you should stay that way. Dreaming is doing. Out here, with eyes opened, it’s a different slice of skin sheen, at all times half-life unworthy. “We are waiting, taking up space.”
Meanwhile, in the Up Space, droning like nano-maximized, hyper-personalized, convenience-infused, and overtly friend-friendly distractions (Read: Obstacle Golf) are watching us like Monsanto watches its GMO seed patents. Closely. With glistening greed fingers rubbing in a counterclockwise motion. They are agro | chemical | contaminated | fang smile
You are not a person, only a collective reflection of habits — points of interest on an ever-changing line.
K. Shawn Edgar | Toothless Wolf | Weightless Hammer | Dead Soon