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I am a young body with an old soul, 21 on this earth, and two thousand in the hole. I hail from an isle in the Great White North, but reside in the Valley of Ash. If you are seeking... if this takes you to dreaming... I recommend that our paths clash. Though I am a lunatic, the world is normal. It seems all wrong to me. By the standards of this mad world, that is so perceptually illogical, the truth has been reflected and inverted to display the negative of this grand photograph. I thought at first that it might stem from my origin. One cannot expect ghosts and aliens to look with the same perspective and bright eyed innocence at what has been labeled as "civilization". The human race has been enslaved by traffic lights, neon signs, commercials and trends; ideals that need their flaws lit up like a Christmas tree for societies eyes. We are imprisoned by the concept of money which only represents the right to enjoy life. Is that right not what we are born with? The only true source of power can be found and drawn from within. Even that is variable because knowledge is merely power, power corrupts, corruption destroys, destruction begets chaos, chaos is the seed of anarchy, anarchy is the beginning of a new creation, creation breeds life, life seeks love, love spawns misery, misery loves company, yet always spreads its sickness. The new lepers desire to know "why us?" and insideously fish for the knowledge in the waters of oblivion to alleviate the ailments afflicting the all-present and the
all-absent authority of the aristocratic assemblage of anemic apparitions. And so we are left, again, with knowledge. Which is an illusion, an allegory, a pipe-dream in the crematory, a parabol and a seminar on giving fellatio in a moving car. I think perhaps I am you at another time, or maybe you are me with the same rhyme, somehow distorted by the echo of time. And if not, does it truly matter? For the principle and the idea remains like a sponge, soaking up all of the disease and bacteria from the once life-bringing waters of a glass knocked from the corner of a grand piano and shattered upon the stage. Yes, madness is contagious. You can catch it from me, I can catch it from you, it comes in the germs of words, and rides into your window on the moon. Merry Christmas, and a happy new eternity to you. May you shake the cancer, may you shake the flu, but I send out a warning to all, chiefly to you. Some diseases damage and destroy the things that make us less human, let the lunacy open your eyes, help us crazies to survive the night. A symphony of destruction can be just as beautiful, if not more so than a symphony of light...
