This is just a storage of the raw

The mind is constantly changing.

Friday, 2 September 2011

Not-Defunct Engine

The man escapes like a rotten rogue around the high lights of the night sky. The clay is starting to mutate, to control the elevation and movement of the inflatables. The world, in its grave weight, suffocates in helium; the man unknowing.

The man paces to the occupied modernity. He violates the knowledge and pleads for forgiveness for what sin the refused tried to clean. Libra moves. The knowledge is dead. Time altered in persistent form. The clay forms in solidification, reformed in blue heaven. There is a tick tock. Finding the death of waterlessness and not-purpose lying, the clay removes the illumination of the world. The man senses.

The man departs from the brooding ignition of obscurity. He rejects the moon and pleads for forgiveness for what sin the refused tried to clean and stops, unknowing. No heartbeat is heard.

I am man.

I was awakened and found my body healed from injury in an underwater sanatorium. I breathed into the water, feeling the familiar sense of comfort in lost element. I was comfortable to have been placed in a setting. The entirety was made of clay in blue heaven.

As the white door opened, the sanatorium, it seemed, was empty. Outside the chamber where I was from, the ceiling was beyond sight. The windows were unreachable and detached from its purpose, but the light from the exterior provided unnerving light. There was neither internal logic nor coherence. There was no access, only open attachment. When I looked outside, it was advanced in gradual diffusion. The unnatural was there, but non-existent. I was alone.

I ran towards the spiral stairway, ascending. The top was the exit and entrance. There were doors made of different material, appealing in its presence. I remained still in the middle of the corridor. It was dull and cold and I felt alive. I remembered a distant dream. The underwater nil, I breathed air.

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