A pixellated dream world

begets a work of paint.

Your simulated mindfulness

turns me into a saint.

Mental image, quantum states,

Our soul becomes collapsed.

My high-pass filters resonate,

With you resounding last.

A fog of fibers and polarized crystals

admits what we ask: the truth, no more.

Our lies are held on false pretenses

leaving our meanings to imagination

I try to reach for a meaningful phrase

I grasp, but meaning is sifted through

my fingers, left with longing clutch

to my own inferiority's complexity 

Our music plays from different shores

but just too far for harmony.

For now, we live behind the veil

and when we speak, I'm born again.

Eyes of white elm 

 and marks in black charcoal. 

Her tanned and taut skin, 

 a silver screen marvel.

-

The strength that I thought 

would always persist 

had lost too much hope 

for will to exist.

So when she had offered 

it troubled me so 

that loneliness spoke 

and didn't say no.

-

We butchered the night 

with blades of our silence. 

dysfunction washed filth 

with emotional violence.

And when it was over 

I packed up and flew 

for all we had done 

at once came to view.

-

Eyes of white elm, 

and nothing to trust. 

our bodies abused, 

addicted to lust.

watching the ghosts of my alternate selves

waiting for the next one to peel away a layer of consciousness

while i gaze into what the last one took

the inaction dissolves into me each time

neurons grow the wrong way, pulses wither

personality coalesces into droplets

familiar surroundings melt into mundanity

turn pearl flourescence to evaporated insanity

i'm reminded that fear is a choice that i make

and every day, i choose to be afraid

It wasn't long ago that humans still longed for adventure. Back then, your endeavours were the most important parts of your life. Your stories became your identity; your mark on time itself.

That's why little trinkets like these are priceless. They're more than just some ornate, nostalgic relics from our past. Each one was at one time a beacon in someone's journey. An enchanted artifact that already knew the time and place of your story's fulfillment. The universe would whisper secrets into the tiniest depths of its workings, and it danced to the rhythm of these truths.

It seems that nowadays these sorts of guides have fallen to antiquity. There are no more questions the electron cannot answer. No more truths to uncover or stories to tell. No more secrets of the universe for these metal spirits to dance to. Journeys have been reduced to weekend getaways where we gaze deeply into our own selves and never find what it is that we're trying to look for.

Now, gaze into this, and look for its questions, not its answers. For its secrets and not its facts. Let it show you the beginning of your adventure, and do not concern yourself with its end. Most often, what you've been looking for is the whole of it.

Grow old where you must.

In all other directions, grow young.

"that's what it's like up here", he said.
"you have to pretend to be genuine so well that you actually are."

"but never ever believe that you are."
"It will kill you."