To Rid the Disease

The Crimson King turns the black cog another notch.

Confusion dominates among the swelling tidal waves of thought and let loose a fire throughout calm meadows. The driving prose swarms with shadows and enigmatic dread. Superimposed faces in the rain all shouting for the same thing. They drown in a dark pool, their voices muted but not gone. So many things now they call for. Each one separating focus and splitting attentions. The volume fades to silence and I am alone.

Things speed up and the momentary silence is gone. Too many things happening at once to know what to do, only time to react.
Move; Counter move.
Speak.
Be silent.
Look.
Close your eyes.
Swing blindly.
Spit fire.
THINK!
Feel.
Fall.
Nothing left to fear. That's what I tell myself. It's comforting to lie.

Grab the cog...turn it once more. Let chaos reign in the great halls of peace. It is salvation through the destruction of stagnation. If I embrace it, I may be able to dig a little deeper, see a little more clearly in the darkness. I must find the antagonist that holds the cog so that I can expel him from my calm center. There is only a little farther to go...each step becomes weighed down with dread and guilt. Fear; the tendrils that grasp at my limbs attempting to pull me back to my safe little box. Their thorns tear at my flesh and I bleed endless concerns out of the wounds, distracting from the task at hand.

Somewhere in the darkness a figure slowly takes shape. It towers overhead, looking down with a cold piercing gaze. I am immobile. Frozen. Terrified at the sheer mass of the enemy I face. He grabs the darkness and tears this strange reality out of existence and I am left with only cold sweat contrasting a humid night. The vision is gone, exhaustion has broken my will.

Next time, Crimson King...

Synchronistic Reveries

It was a perfect moment in time, my new favorite memory. So much understanding was gotten from such a simple and natural act that it seems set up. The very forces of nature bow to us and put us high in their regards. A feverish melody in passing. The dyad drifts down slowly between us and lands for a brief moment. It stares deeply into my soul and reflects back my wants and needs only to flutter off as mysteriously as it had phased into recognition. Its purpose fulfilled, the dyad can now go on and grow into its own life. I can only hope for such satisfying results in my own life. I'm not sure if the Dyad has made a promise or if it is just a vision of what could be, what should be. In all of the ways you have touched my mind, thank you Dyad...your kindness overwhelms me.

Window to the Psyche

Hazy and incomplete the images come sketched in stained water. There is nothing that is as real as flesh yet somehow it has more meaning. Every blotch is a representation of something far greater than the convenience of reality. It is everything formed from nothing. It is but a dream.