In The Black Box


Early in Morning, Beneath the Feet of Broken Skys

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This feels nothing like it should, and now it sounds better…. these are vibrations far beyond the loss of control, these are vibrations of a future.. one out of my control, one that is set to be something. And i dont know what that is, but in these vibrations i can hear what they might sound like.. and we talk, and we mull it all over… but there is no way of knowing, they may choose one thing… they may choose another, its all how we react…its all how we move, its all how it is in the air that night…. its all about colour and response, its all about shades of blu and circus panoramas, its all about sweat and blurred vision, its all about the timing and the huge expectation, its all about the work put in and the hours spent making mistakes, its all about the times, those times, u know them, when you knw what you just pressed had changed everything…. and now you look at a thousand silhouets, and a couple thousand more behind them….the millions of blurs….and now you look at them and you want to scream, you want to shout so loud the world knows exactly what you are saying…. everything, every fool and farmer, and all the lost souls…. you want them all to hear and take notice, for you know that back then, when you didnt even notice…when you were looking so blindly at the shadows and the shards of light… when you were putting 1 and 1 together and losing the plot…you know that that was when you made the difference…and these people know too….lookling to the cetre of the universe… looking to the sun… looking to the moon….looking to what makes any sense at all….this is it now…

we’ve got nothing in this… and they move very slowly…across the sky, but even though they decieve us, and move faster than you can imagine… it is ourselves that move away from them…they wait for us day and night, they hang above us looking down.. taking it all in. and we simply move around and around. They dont stay where they are, not at all, for the rise and set like you and i… they need sleep too, and no their nocturnal dreams are not like our own. the days of dreaming fly by us… we are to them black as coal…we are invisible… stealing them is ….i dont

i wouldnt…then we’d have nothing to look at and nothing for me to describe in times of quiet when the wind takes a break and the clouds are less thick. one, two, three, four, five…..theatres of countless stars…stars of gold and rain


Written by Dave

July 31, 2008 at 1:58 AM

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