comfyquiet

Love me slow, hallucinating

The lines that are dots, The beginning of us and others.

The lines that are drawn, We dare not cross those borders.

The lines that are smudged, With hesitation and commiserations.

The lines that are erased, As we carry on after our actions.

You honour the dead by going on. Even when you’re scared. You live because they don’t get to.

With facts what’s important is their weight and accuracy. Warmth is secondary.

The Machine is meddlesome Tugging at the heartstrings of masses Through illusory promises of glory and grandeur. And they sway, These victims of gravity.

And they fall. Everyone falls, why wouldn’t they? The Machine’s orchestra weaves a mesmerising tune And I just wish they’d stop dancing, To look at what remains behind.

The few that are often forgotten. Unwanted specks in a carpet full of dust The whimper in a rowdy crowd Because they wouldn’t or couldn’t Accept the Machine’s construct.

Such is the consequence When the journey’s reward Matters more than the trek ever could. Values are vanity, Living is swimming upstream And the rest can drown.

I refuse to play a part in the Machine’s theatre. I’d like to believe, We can live by our own trinkets and devices But my weary eyes have seen enough to know better. All I want is to howl at the daylight’s moon And sleep with a smile on my face.

In Relativity, Matter tells Space how to curve, and Space tells Matter how to move.

Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.

One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

I go to loud places to search for someone to be quiet with