The Art of Conquest
I am a metaphor for who I want to be. I’m a material being filled with immaterial possessions. In seeking to confirm myself with another I have often faltered. Fear is false evidence appearing as reality. Clinging to the truth so tightly, I could never let go. I don’t know how long I held my soul suspended between probabilities.
In establishing a sense of self; reconnecting often meant going deep within myself after I’d been turned inside out and a world upside down. I play music to drown out the static possibility of silence. I pretend I can fly to wish away the monster of my mindlessness.
How can you confirm an impossible belief?
My desire to know everything had driven me to the horizon of yesterday. Instead of focusing on the raindrops collected upon the window; I was wondering why the rain wasn’t falling. Why was everything around me changing? Why couldn’t I stop making everyone contradict what I wanted to say, and how could I stop the dreams from coming true; like Alex knew.
Fear is a fantastical endless curse; fear engineered by the masters of this remastered universe. He says he hears the sounds of boys singing in the static behind the in between waking dreams of the schizophrenic.
Maybe I did break through the matrix pretending I was Trinity trying to wake you and make you love just like me a copy but they can’t have this unique master key. Maybe I did release God and destiny. Maybe the opposite was true; but who was there to tell you the differences.
When everything impossible was a chronic disease of dependency. I do recall when I pushed you; when I wished you would follow the wind and sunshine to hear the voices in the sky. We can’t go backwards but we can see between the clouds.
Why do I feel like it’s my voice when the crowd sings in unison? How can you tell the difference between a false world and a real one? Our Memories were a poison to the engineers of self-destruction.
The horizon is all that they can see. Did they see more than could we?