Rhythm is a Dancer

Sunday, September 10, 2006



All things natural observe the severe changes of the heavens. We can feel the pitch and roll as the nexus shifts alignment and even the lowiest of Gods creatures must resign itself to the part it plays in the changing seasons. Gourds rise from the earth where once was swelling berries. The birds fly before the cold winds. Swarms of bee's are replaced by swarms of dust. The flowers stare at their roots as though accused and awaiting judgement. I too am waiting for the white cloak of winter. We all have rituals, mine involves a suspension of motion, trance like, staring slack jawed and glassy eyed at any surface which reflects dim light, primarily my computer monitor, but sometimes the moon. As a prophet scries the future in a crystal ball, so too light in small quantities grants me unnatural powers reminiscent of these psychonaughts. Sailing on the starry waves of astral existence. My enhanced mental clarity has extended beyond those more physical limitations vastly increasing my zone of control by infecting the minds of those others careless enough to be guided by my dark wishes as the hand of fate fulfilling that which I have forseen. Pawn to King, check!




11 comments:

thedeviluno said...

I seriously hate editing. Things sound so much better inside my head before I express them.

Brass said...

Yah right.

thedeviluno said...

Do not doubt me Brass....or soon you will be painting your upstairs (the color i want!!)

DredoOooOo said...

what color did you want?

thedeviluno said...

GREEEN BEBE!!!!

The Lazy Iguana said...

You are the master.

DredoOooOo said...

you must share with me this magic

Brass said...

What color should I paint the upstairs? bring me some swatches.

I am in a renovating mood.

PS.

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DredoOooOo said...

What has happend Oh Evil One... 8 days now and nothing, nothing witty, nothing vile, nothing notable.... Come Now Do not let us ... twindle here with.....


are you still alive?

thedeviluno said...

My ink pot was dry. I have to infrequently sharpen my quill and rest in quiet contemplation. As the ebb and flow of the tides so too does my writing.

Anonymous said...

As you wait my soul dries up and shrivels... I am in constant wait for the waterfall of wit and complaints!
J