The sunset is all that remains, of days that are all but worth remembering, the setting of the sun discards the frost in my heart. When you've hit rock-bottom, all there is left to realise is absolute zero is actually −273.15°C. Sorry, it's not me -it's science. The possibility of flight is one that is found within yourself and cannot be detained in form or function, all that matters is the willingness to look within and find what it is that is there to be found in order to illuminate, move away from the state that is limited material thought, pick the world up and move it with velvet like smoothness, caressing the hand that feeds, caressing the soul that bleeds, hush, hush television and world leaders, your control is but imaginary writings and of no meaning to me.

Sure the world's changing, sure we're part of a generation that wishes to see change. We need to realise that it's more than that, we need to realise we don't need modern-day medicine, we need to realise we are at the beginning, we need to understand we are the medicine that'll feed the world, we are the roots from where the resuscitation starts, we are the parts, bigger than the whole. Vision, is a miraculous manifestation, that ought to become our mission, our sole occupation, love, compassion, surpass competition, strive for the voluntary gathering of all individuals, care-taker or care-giver, a big difference, no longer will we protest, we will build. That, dearest, is the change we need to see.

Television tells me to fear pandemic decease, television tells me, I have to look good, cause I'm worth it, the newspaper tells me Iran is building nuclear weapons, the newspaper tells me the poor countries are obstructing a new resolution in Copenhagen.

And all the people around me seem convinced they're right.

And I would like to be a peaceful man, a man that lives his life outside the narrow-minded paradigm of fear, not obstructed by limited thought, thinking in possibility, roaming freely, mountaintops, green plains of dreams and hope, living in this western society is a somewhat slippery slope. Cause the contest is build-in, people in the charts, can't necessarily sing, I need to be better than you are, or you'll take my skin. I'd like to peacefully co-exist, together build a world for tomorrow, where we enable joy to rule over sorrow. Just like that.

The perspective upon all situations differ, the question that truly mattered was left unanswered and my thoughts travel places they had long forsaken until 2 weeks ago. Confusion unaltered, is stated, my starting point is interest and is not any sort of quest that leads anywhere but where I was already. Yet untouched, perspective upon matters differ. As it seems, there's a continuation of a typical situation which would be the broken branches of a tree in the garden of the God's, eating pears, sipping mint-tea with honey, oh sweet little honey bee, I'd give you my house, but without a hyve, would you still consider yourself to be a bee? Referencing is important, paradigms are altered when one changes scenery and it should be taken into consideration, a step as such is not one taken lightly, I concur. Yet, there's a point, that is too far away from the waters-edge, that would be the point your nose is under water and you start kicking and screaming out of the fear of drowning. All I ask is; Please, swim, please, swim. Your eyes peer desperately at me, while you told me, to let you be, the situation was different, the kicks directed at me, love is free, love is free, I cannot swim for you, nor can you for me and from a distance, it might not be, what it looks like, or how it feels, to be the broken branch of a century-old tree.

Outside the garbage's piled up, traffic passing by slowly, there no warm water but there's a connection to the outside world. It's cold in general, even if there would be warm water and clothing cannot take the place of intrinsic warmth anyway. And yet we try, we try to maintain a smiling face in times of peril, where the Sun shines softly on our faces only to let us know he's there. While lunar activity centres itself 'round 13-cycles a year, we expect the Sun to shine and accompany us, always, never ceasing, warmth. Seeking, eyes closed, touch only, my body is a vehicle, a notepad and a garbage bin, for the food industry to fill with genetically modified goods and hormones that will ensure my development. Kind enough. (Cause it ain't fair enough, that's for sure.)

A deep melancholy seeps through the ceiling, where once was a roof, I now see the perimeter of a self-created manifestation of nightmares and sorrow. While the blood of Christ -or is it red wine, really, flows around slowly, waves within borders, seek the edge, extrinsically controlled movement. The sustaining reflection upon ones life, brings about turmoil, pushes and pulls, brings about, desire, for blood, blame, it's fear, it's all cries in vain, societal eagerness for fame. I pull away, it's not dogmatic, I know, but it's an endless discussion to which the only end is submission, while my dominant paradigm is a vision, perhaps similar to yours, for which I am thankful, as carrying the world upon your shoulders, is a mission, for which Atlas was chosen.

The feeling arises out of nothing, a clear sky at day, the music of choice, death metal, songs of sorrow and dismay. At night, blood touches my lips, smoking circular puffs, perhaps, the soft tones of your voice, smooth and soothing, could pull me out -yet, conformity, is not my game, I live proud, I'll go down, smile and cry, but will -and, cannot, align with those, that condemn and judge, simple reason being, I love Mother Earth (and thereby all that is on her) too damn much.

Oh the honey dripping on my tongue erases the bittersweet melancholy of silver linings behind weeping clouds. Weeping they may be, they feed our soil, the artificial coherency of our daily lives are but a facade for the turmoil of modern day man, are but a misinterpretation of the law of life as described by Ishmael, the teacher-gorilla. Yet, people do not listen to what is said if it is not of absolute necessity, such as the things they can't see and will surprise 'm, when Mother Earth has sealed the fate.

Ah, life does not adhere to cosmic time anyway, so how can we be too late?

On the equilibrium of chaos and cohesion, we find the development of mankind, and the continuation thereof (being human and all) or choice to perish. Were we to conclude evolution has stopped, as some seem to have decided, and closed eyes can't see a constructive paradigm shining onto our faces in the break of day of a new age, that's ok, my ass won't end in a cage.

The twilight fades out city fantasies, precariously erasing the traces of a day in the trenches of an almost modern world. The promiscuous shallowness of dancing light trapped in a box seduces each individual that sees in it, a possible relief. The dancing lights spoken of are but distractions from the soul, attractions to desire, buy more, eye sore, stab yourself with your newly bought set of knifes, health insurance causes people to take more chances, the exploration of near-death exeperience. For life on the border between analystics and insanity, is to bring nothing but an increased facination for botany, which in itself would not be dangerous, but thinking about ownership of plants, is to ask yourself am I god, maybe so, who will know. Legislation is passed to confirm your notion that we are far away from what might matter, when all electrical structures collapse on our heads, leaving the stars to illuminate our skies and long-distance relationships to say their goodbye's, using smoke signals.

What it is to burn, I do not know, I have not gained experience in self-combustion, nor do I aspire to. Although the mind be bugged, self-combustion is a physical matter and does not inhabit the wanderings of the soul. The distinction of mind and soul is one I've aimed to dissect meticulously, yet have failed. Analysis, is not necessarily bliss. It clouds judgement and complicates matters intended for feeling, not thinking, while it all the more leads to sinking, into deep dark holes of the planet's cavities and disable you to resurrect from the ashes, leaving you unable to fulfill the prophecy ascribed to you.