Watch the dance of haunted lovers. Every moment they dance with unreal – realities. They dream the child’s discovery of life without muddy foundation and those many layers hidden behind the shells and walls of age.
Is this alternative similar to grieving for a fallen lover with sugar tears and fire-sweetness and the memories of Dance? We may arrive in Cloud early. In transition and seeking a flash-ride to spiral and skippy into framing time we often miss but do not fall…
Inside the ruin runes of Calimesa City and a tavern of crumble stone and moss and rubble and ruined wooden benches and tables turning to ground, life starts and life ends as breath starts and breathing ceases. Not a cloud fall missed but a spark’s charge headlong into the channel of paradise and kiss-love before the night ends and life trashes to light.
We are the robots of life—scattered and jammed across one thousand worlds set to twirl the galaxy lost and found and discovered discarded. A million mines of golden ones whirling inside drops of rain and trillion acre seas of salt and water and giant drops of life’s sparking rattles and battles in the birth of baby eyes and smiles.
We are the ‘off-grid-gridders’ of new plug-ins unedited and rejected from the norms of whisper’s folly inside a grid of lost souls and flounder bodies. Everything numbered dwells within this symmetry of stop and starts and the ones and zeros of reasons and verses and songs.
However; we are new robots unable to trace or spare chaotic notions beginning or ending without result. We are not even noticed by other robots…We are chips inside other chips and notions outside the loops that loop ad infinitum. We are the memories of Calimesa City and created in the backseats of an auto or two sometimes past and always future, where taverns crumble and bridges fall.
And! Beautiful you are…