The rain is a cascading etude, pattering down foreign scales, sputtering out in the gutter like an extinguished spark. footsteps are muted and everything waits silently indoors for sun and mountain springs. the water after drought. this is the correct nocturne for this party, with moody crescendos hurtling toward enlightened motifs, the black and the white keys, the film angles and famous directors for death squads and random killings, no real justice, the monsters remained as monsters and we only had the sole survivor, trapped in a turned over car and feeling the spine of a sabretooth through thousands of years of tradition. My god my god that is it! there it is the flame shooting through space faster than the speed of sight and holographic memorials raise up out of the grounds as tomes to those fallen seeds to which our bouquets are now derived. The silent audience breathing listlessly, walking on egg shells with our synaptic feet, and taking from each mystery a more formal sense of brooding and the cadence picks up with our hearts pumping fluids to and from places in the body that have no consciousness, I cannot pin point my spleen, and no one knows what it is good for, an important health anatomy question to proliferate this vessel through the deepest channels and into the clouds with all greek gods cheering me on with hands upraised.
Tonight it rains pianos.
Such physical humor, these bodies of ours crushed beneath the wooden frames and starving artists will eat the words of critics until the next generation of sound pulls through the speakers, constantly shifting onward through to the vanguard and we are left echoing in the moonlight. The sky a burning ember in this war torn sovereign cityscapes, bundles of flaming garbage disposing whispers with an heir of arrogance. music is the savior of this city. it is the passageway into heaven and a deeper conceptual understanding could help to guide me there with intrinsic motivation and something more than a therapy and a chaotic swerving. must dive headfirst, deeper yet, into this void and call out to the ghosts of my past mediocrity that this golden city looks much greater when everyone smiles, no longer allowing the body to fall deeply out of touch with that sensory lust, our hands intertwined to the soothing sounds of courteous piano music, have a sensation trap planned for your ears, there is no escaping that wondrous beauty of sound and the introspection it can cause in us, the mood shifts and the terrifying life of words without pronunciation.
