Life happens between our rage and we giving ourselves a chance.
Consciousness doesn’t need my approval to spread its oblivious longing.
Where to end?
Where to be blind again in the force of indulgence?
You see everywhere I go I see colonies of slouching cacophony,
then where to find the ephemeral vessel of transcendence?
Going clear is hard when it’s more righteous to be present and fight…
But I have a problem with people not giving a chance to growth,
the psychedelic scepticism,
the mad hunter,
the concurrent waves
and the forgiveness of our body.
Association demands loneliness,
words demand silence
and a mere anomaly in the face of continuation demands an obsession of connotations.

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Photograph: Tania Dworjan.