Bandana Fever

There may come a time in which you ask yourself, what is the point of this mad existence? A warm moment in the snow? A frozen smile in the fire? A sentence formed from influence; disregarded as original, yes perhaps it is. But unique it’s ubiquitousness. And to breathe in the molasses and bask in the humid Cherokee thunder, gives subtle life to a silent fleet of endless force, yet still it lacks enough inertia to endure a winter change. Though yes, yes, and yes again to those distinguighing differeneces between what is still, and what is stolid. As Ray Bans and banana peels drink iced americanos and carve deep into the flesh an influenza. If you find that your stuffed animals remain in the middle of a wedding heist, I’ve found it’s best to dissapear into a cereal box toy with a muffled flame beneath it’s plastic manufactured foundation; though disregard the dripping burning sensation of salvation. Saliva fountains upward in an endless stream, terraforming into the shape of a rose where thorn like life radiates in pairs and triplets. Where cartoon characters baptize the creator in a late nineteenth century photograph, hours of caffiene belches and romance lyrics are ablaze out of second hand stereo systems; poision like a dripping wax to only those who do not accept it’s warmth and let burn a cascade of possible pleasure. And yet, to remain the same, within this indifference, on a rational rope above an abyss of chaos, it to endure the lifting of your lashes, day in and out, up and down for the ages, until of course, like the atomic conclusion of the beast, a dust settles; calm and courageous, soft as the memory of his wife’s skin to the first man on the moon’s weightless big toe.