The mechanics make her holy. In the details are where the hallowed reside. Snapchat saints and drunk text sinners. Decoding symphonies instantaneously the moment two waves collide. Open to interpretation our hearts beat to an unceaded rhythm. A schism between what is left to do and what’s already been. Love in the labouring to understand it. Truth in the moment it is forgotten. Dissolving disonance, intuitive destruction. Creation from the rubble of our own creating.
Bring back the divine interventions in our sick hearts turning these black diamonds into glittering beetles, fertile in their composition as tiny soldiers set to defend our defiant decay in the face of barren intoxication, with beauty and all things becoming intervenous weapons of internal combustion, engine for change out of what is already comfortable exposed in the dark as an uncooperative accomplice in our own blind imaginings of what is still possible.
In the beginning the end was already wrapped up in it crying like a new born babe for mothers affection. Mother dead in the babies womb as yet unborn. Tender embrace. Secret promise. Tempting fate. Wielding magic. A man walks into a bar and orders, a man and a fish and a gold mine walk into a bar and dance, a child walks into a bar and detonates, a man walks and walks and walks until he reaches an immovable object. Calamity invocation. An unstopable force solving for ex.
Inspired by Astronautalis latest video Running Away From God