A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935)

Within reach is this powerful version of yourself. At the gates, down the hall, through the passage ways of the relentless cherishes. The face bright, a mild sense of insanity compels you beyond this version, this vision of lost and the flowering gestures of your present time. What will one say as the passers by learn their riches? What will the edges of the sober breathe give to the madness? Can you, the staple being of your own existence set aside a propagandized life for the sake of living? These warm thoughts cooked up by the simple reaches and gestures I see and feel in a day. My body chemistry speaking to the masses on an historical avenue tucked away in this planet. The vibrated looks of their eyes jumping into the depths of nowhere. The quasi bop of the walk, the insecure, the checking endless update of now. We are here. We are the animal instincts in the heat of a chakra. The whole spectrum raining down, and what we stick to in our grasp we foresee in the futures of time we cannot count on. The spectacle in consistently attempting to be present, or simply, aware of the fake attributions of our know hows. I declare a wild state of madness to justify how I sway here. I will dance with the silhouette eye in the obscure, always. Even as I traverse the mundane of this box I sit next to and have to push with a rolling eye.