Burned long ago by the fire of future, what was is no longer.
A parasite lurks among us.
A parasite not visible at first, for it keeps itself hidden.
It holds a form similar to us, but foreign all of its own.
Yet it insists it is of us, one of us, and belonging to us.
I had a dream last night. Onw which woke me from a deepened sleep that had been started with a soft and subtle flame across the room from where I slept.
The world has turned to a sad state of affairs.
Perversions are the order of the day,
Lives filtered through the lens of a lens with opinion and undue certainty mixed in.
Hardly a scrap of truth is recognized the world over anymore,
For truth has become objective views of certainty.
Many times I had gone by those fields where fortune flowers. My wealth was noticed on the path and where those paths did lead. Continue reading “Flowering fields of fortune [archive].”