First the world was flat, then it was round, now it’s orthogonal, like the IKEA manuals.
You’re a healthy fish in poisoned waters. Swim towards meek goals. Win your weight in debt shot out of a champagne bottle.
Live like a queen, a completely natural progression following lost hope. You’re growing flowers in the desert.
Before you go to bed you want a pillow, a snack, someone to whisper in your ear that everything will be ok. It’s ok. Time doesn’t care how it went.
When you crash dump your memory the euphoria will be overwhelming.
Like everyone else you don’t take advantage of the moment at hand. You lose your train of thought as the opportunity slips by.
Your cities are in ruins so rent a room, a void in space. Your destiny ran into a fireproofed column.
What is the sky? A limit or just a career goal? The earth is still spinning and it’s too early to go to bed.
I’ve stopped separating real and imaginary. Otherwise I’d have nothing to fill the time.