SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS

The monuments we erect to pride in our youth do not always stand the test of time. They become weathered, faded, and topple over as members of subsequent generations are reckless with something to prove. We look at them years later with angst and disappointment. ‘How could we have benefited from such a path?’ we might ask. We’re we able to have foresight with the same clarity, we might have seen that our demise was just around the corner, and the only logical conclusion based on the assorted collocation of atoms before us. However, life finds a way. The sands of time shift. Relevance seems to fade gloriously somehow. And we, we have these relics of monuments to remind us of stories. Nothing more. Nothing less. Let us begin again. Daily. In pursuit of dreams that have no need for ego. In pursuit of plans that just might save us all.

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There are ties that bind, and blinds that tie, all the day long. We can only guess at the length of each. And when we find that we are not strong enough, we must find different ways to reach. For we become connected to those with a similar past, those who have suffered similar wounds. And we want more that anything for everything to last, beyond just a single shadow cast in the dunes.

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If we stay and unpack everything together, and work on the piles as we go, we’ll have comfortable clothes and coping mechanisms for various weather, and our inner being will feel safe without putting on a show. But, if we pack one case to begin with, such that we both have what we need, we can prove that true love isn’t just a myth, and that by limiting ourselves we can somehow become freed. We can take turns carrying the case, and when we experience problems, urge each other not to get scared. For we are all we need in this whole wide place, and we can hug it out when we get there.

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These majestic mountains rising from the crust, rising from the turbulent magma beneath. They operate as signposts for the two cities that are each known by two letters. These epicenters of darkness search for candles to hold up to the mountains, but find themselves empty handed.

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~ Low Light Real ~

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Which sure might feel like insomnia, but it’s meant to feel like a grand parade. The blockades in the streets are about to meet their magic crescendo now.

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With the whispers of the woods, in the fracture of a second lost, comes the squeaking of iron hinges, announcing the gate has been closed. Entrance beyond this point will not be considered. You have come to Heaven’s Boundary: Placed On Arrival. We wish to squeeze through the bars. The bars themselves are indifferent. They’ve been placed as well.

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