wisefool

Prior to our minds splitting, we strided in circles around the universe, slowly evolving every time along with each revolution.
Now, we stand idly as the past leaves us torn and tingly and the future waits steadily ahead with its firm hand of support or its heavy hand of torment.

At times, I sense a newness as I intermittently feel your parallel meditations that spur me right along; my path is continuously a waveform with highs and lows, crevices and climaxes, and at times we buzz into our moments of harmony and full strength and others we descend like a heated meteor into the depths, burning with a kind of joyousness, dying with a smile, knowing that higher heights are soon to be gotten.

A deep breath and I slow to the rhythm you vibe to, we gradually change our course and re-trajectorize towards our new destiny; one of the many that awaits us, hopefully wishing to be filled and fulfilled, to be made real and concrete. The ever-potential orgasm, waiting for fruition. A heaven that teases you, dangling bait from the heights that await us, the joys of pain, the hope that wrings you dry, the extremes of pain and joy that only make you question why.

We triangulate with time and beam past our surroundings;
time crackles, becomes dusty, and trodden upon as we rush ahead to moisten our potentialities, spritzing dew on the few paths that we see on the horizon, fertilizing the advancement of space and time with kegel reflexes and hopeful wishes. Time becomes the load that was spent into the rubber bag and slung onto the ceiling fan that spun into oblivion, the spunk that was digested by this macrocosmic being and broken down into its original form of nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups, the ouroboros, the end becomes the beginning and we never end up anywhere except for where we started.

I must not know my center if this perimeter surprises me so.

What is this thing that drags us down? What is this anchor that is binding my circumference? There's a steel ball resting in the main chamber of my heart, it's killing me softly, slowing me down, my self is sloughing off and soon I'll be the new me. . . . . . . .

__________________
Say hello to my frontal lobe.