It is that time again, to give the master a visit.
Drained by the drag of this swamp, starving for the holy company
I must return once again to that blessed deathbed, so that I may sneak through the sliding door, and the clashing rocks, and re-emerge in the field where I am no more.
Yes, that’s what I long for the most these days, a sip of eternity, where the hands of time drop and I become an innocent child again.
I’ve been in the state of emergency long before this pandemic. I’ve been wearing masks and social distancing and putting up walls since the Berlin Wall fell.
I’m a fortress, a fortress protecting mere air, protecting a mere idea, a big fat idea, a figment of imagination called “me.”
I’m weary of ideas, the cheap fridge magnets of a frightened ego. I entertain so many of them and…
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