Impossible to be the same, taking things for granted, praying for provisions and protections, instincts left stranded, doomed and tombed. Habitual affections are no longer, like a march toward nothing, the decline accepted, even anticipated in a way.
Unsanity.
More noise rock is needed, more head banging, more rough riffs, more stomping. We can take space rides later.
Love slowly and quietly, they say. Let it simmer and saute. Let it work up to the right heat, never have to turn it down. It will not burn, it will be perfect, delicious on the plate. Even the last bite will be warm.
Orderly disorder, escaping for a time, confined by outer boundries. Freedom, only an illusion, practical and common, a mere sense of serenity and comfort. Our dreams were realized, they came true. The stars will stay where they are, far away, glittering.
It is calm, but a cold snap is arriving. Wake early and write. Thaw out. Get a fire going, put your hands up close.
No worries, no worries.
Others will be thinking of themselves. Our intentions only curious, our observations only considered, our opinions only formed. It doesn't matter. Very few are listening, even fewer are caring, and none are saving. The saving's been done, we can spend it now.