The windows would let in a variety of rays once the sun came up from its cage called gravity. The only reason the light bounces off the concrete is that there is not a hole through where the particle/waves can seep through. No holes through where my eyes can peek through. Landscapes are matte grey, and pastel painted. I've no reason to believe that these giants are keeping me inside, but I look at them, and they smile. I know they want to keep me here. The walls, they all stand and stare and sing. The songs beat beautifully on my membranes. I curse the damned sirens.
It's 9:36 in the morning, sun is up, people are awake and my digestive meats growl from their cave. Fuel: one of the many reasons to slide off from bed. wishwecouldjustphotosynthesize. Wish I could be a Jackalope. I wish to be a hoax, so I could swim between streams, among ideas and great plans. Plans to destroy and to unite. Swim along chaos, swim along comformity. Swim along structure and order. I aim to be multidirectional or maybe not; omnidirectional...like the Jackalope, and in my tiny little deathbox carved by hand, on the header, title page, epitaph "here lies the only living hoax".
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