Stroll

Stroll through the streets of misfortune, bad weather, and good omen.

Zombified, smell of coffee, sugar, urea, booze and sewage. Welcome to the streets of the metropolitan, where the good hides in menacing establishments, and the simpleton march along busy sidewalks, business attire donned and not a single care that the world is falling apart.

To creators, nature, or the 1000 years of someone’s dream, this is their sandbox. A way to understand the major flaws of being, and the destructive and abyssal nature of human lust. Lust for power, lust for sex, lust for perfection, lust for connection, lust to be a part of the elusive heavens. No heaven will fit the extent of lust housed within humans, or heaven would likely be the hells we dread.

The heads of the virtuous hang low, concealing the scars, pain and distaste for what surrounds them. They were given little choice but to immerse within the lifeless vessels that crowd around them. Soon, their spirits and morality will wisp away into the evanescent river of innocence that hovers towards the larger currents away from us. They too become lifeless.

Will there be a day that the spirits will rejoice with a vessel worth being revived? They slumber in meadows of tall grass, lilacs and daffodils, housed with snakes, ticks and tarantulas. A location so elusive, only the enlightened through knowledge may have a chance to discover the great escape. But they are easily dissuaded, as they do not take kindly to displays of cowardice. Only cowards shout, display anguish, and show utmost desperation to find good in and for themselves at the cost of others. It takes courage to meditate into the unknown abyss.

Zombified, smell of coffee, sugar, urea, booze and sewage. Every thread of time intertwines with the spirits floating away to the sea, painting an evanescent silk network atop the city. Not even a formal farewell.