When they asked her if she might have anything left, well, she told them that “not quite”. That it would have to be something from nothing, something entirely preordained and terrifically real. No time for fake falsified heroes, these people with attitude to adhere and nothing else for it but for this alone. Time it took and a serious degree at that – to fashion-forward over-enunciate, to placate the hero within a thousand sorry soulless people. The dream may well have been rather real but there were far more and many a thing to complete – compete – with from the outside in.
And all awhile her mind chose the right time, right place, right description process of a lifetime. Strife time, some may let themselves say it. Happily.
See, these peripheral people will speak for themselves, endlessly, and even so soon as no-one’s been listening. A list long as their rifled arm of over-blown insinuation. Fake and falsified people that they are, indeed, they do breathe by the nocturnal noise that the ‘lesser’ people’s minds find themselves to unanimously employ. Deploy – deeper and deeper at being recklessly real.
Sitting with these fuksake whereabouts, wherein our drive and dreams desire themselves to solve it all – dissolve it all in the blink of a thinker’s eye-line – and to come back from the brink of derelict meaning, til steered inescapably toward natural-born brilliance. Again, please, let it epic-ally be. To simply let oneself think in absolute unearned hindsight, that all it might actually have taken is a bolstered aside borrowed break from the norm and bringing ourselves back to a place of righteous, riotous belonging.
We’ve been lingering, stereo-typically, so you so know it to be. Appears to be that the wild wide word – world – has winded itself down to nothing but a short and sworn murmur which lives seething-ly within. And we cannot hold forth anymore, our long adored courtship has been losing its radiant appeal and we are no longer sniffer-dog significant.
And is this, perhaps, why the bare-naked easel appeals? A brushstroke to nowhere and everywhere magically estranged again. And tantalised as such. About to broach that motherfucking surface and for one first time.
She is sincerely afraid that her past might just start to catch up with her.