Life after social media and the meandering thought stream of deep consciousness


Very much so desolate are the walkways behind us. We make our own paths through the fields of gray; dredging as we tread through emptiness. I accept the stimulus, but refuse to allow the response. Silent white horses draw me forward through the fog of dust and I embrace the shallow breathing, as if it’s what drives me. I open my arms akimbo and feel the dust slip through my fingers and hammer my skin. I not only accept, I embrace. I allow the terrible places I enter to become home. Yet still, I feel the need to find something; something to give me reason. To be content is only part of the formula; for every man has something that beckons him. Many mistake this as dream-time, and let it slip further away. But I need to catch it. I need it feel it beneath my feet. To move me somewhere new. I need to grab hold of the waves of simulacrum, to feel myself become a part of them. To ride them to my death, and rise yet again, as the illusion breaks down. As the fourth wall crumbles at my grip, I will step through into a whole new world. A world where new words are created every time I open my eyes, just so I may describe what I see. And there, before me, crystals of ice, glowing in the empty space, indifferent to me or anything else, remind me of my place. While once I stood on pedestals, just as gods do, here I am a pawn. Sacrificial when beneficial. Still, to fall from ones pedestal is a necessity when entering this place. And still the frontier beyond me beckons, and I, the ever optimistic, heed the call.


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