I No Longer

Dream Linear

∴ 2012 ∴

@K1LLK1LLK1LL

I.

Frozen myths, complicated telephone conversations

burn deep into the night.

We’ll rally the troops, advancing to a blood-lust dawn.

Specific experience of an abnormal meaningfulness,

wondering aimlessly, in your Tokyo-style nightmare plot summary.

Your blood daughters air crystals beam down like a forgotten sun.

The interpreter, in the end,

will diagnose us all with a rare form of psychic epilepsy.

II.

He was a pseudo-protagonist, a ruffian,

who loved Paris and wine and drugs. But now, the synchronicity was becoming more apparent.

Closer to the benevolent truth. There is a relationship between what

I see,

hear and read.

It’s real, I swear.

III.

As the mathematics melt into the ether, I trail a gang of desperadoes through the haunted badlands.

Purge your outer-self, let’s discuss the finer points of quantum teleportation.

Refractive echoes make their way undauntedly,

through trillions of parallel universes.

IV.

Don’t listen to the wind, he’ll lead you down a pragmatic,

yet obtuse pathway. Systematic pulses of light defied comprehension

as Babylon came crashing down burying the once almighty Atlantis

in all her glory.

V.

These frequencies are schematics of the soul, debonair and nonchalant,

tongues twisting in the final seconds of the day, as twelve pyramids fall in silence

beyond the horizon.

VI.

Rugged polygons flank hipster fucks, hours of unknown artists pile sky high

devoid of substance and abuse. Trace history to key moments and intersects. Delirious mornings make for holistic afternoons,

choose wisely son, he would mutter, bring forth these memories

while sinking deep in malformed revelations.

VII.

The vagrant sun rays play off my guilt, the meaning is blissful but lost,

like ancient chants echoing throughout the hallways of time.

A smile cracked only slightly as she transgressed

from the background to the foreground. Nature was not on her side,

neither was god.

But the inhumanity of the dire situation was the only thing that would keep her going,

keep her strong. Keep Sheila on acid.

VIII.

Winter was safe, and we would harbor great heroes’ of yesteryear.

We'd bury the aforementioned bones of once godly kings, who, in a devious manner, could bring realms of a evil men

to their knees, and turn great kingdoms into ash. Beacons from the future would highlight a series

of secrets, as mystical lyrics would spill from her blackened lips.

IX.

With a mass of two million billon suns,

you rip through the continuum barely even noticing me.

Zero-separation you preached:

light-like vectors, as information propagates instantaneously,

(meaning information had been transmitted faster than the speed of light).

Non-locality always depended on your casual ambiguities,

your distant gaze, and bias for spatial separation.

You hated those hidden variables, that momentum we rode,

and our constant debates about such unrealistic realities.