Welcome back.

As shadows flicker across the pavement, your mind tries to figure whether or not it’s day or night.
You contemplate starting the painting in your head of what it would look like if it was in day or night.
The tungsten lights cast an odd orange tint to the ground, Makes you know that it is definitely midnight.
Barely cold, but just enough to shiver, and yet again your mind begins to wonder whether or not its winter.
For your mind’s sake I will tell you, but only if you continue to paint this picture with the ink you have been given.

Down the stairs and to the right, light floods one spot on the floor.
Illuminating a man hanging by his arms, feet barely on the floor.

Welcome back.
Such warm words, before the cold battle.
Arms hung from the ceiling, downcast, shadows dance across his face.
Spit and blood drip from his lips, as he sucks his lip to stop the cut from expelling his life blood.
Arms stretched upwards seemingly reaching for something, but being held by the restraints, that cut so deeply into his wrists.
Looking down finding a blade and realizing where this could lead.
Using his big toe and one next to it, he holds it between the two.
Lifts his legs up towards the light that is above him.
Carefully sawing at the rope holding the weight of his body.
The rope began splitting.
The strands popped apart, soon letting go of each other.
His body slammed against the floor and he clenched in agony.
Rolling on the ground waiting for the pain to go away.
His flesh seared against the dirty concrete, from the split skin.
He began to run, sprinting, was pulled back and slammed to the floor, rolling in pain realizing the other restraints that held him.
They began laughing hysterically, so much it was infecting and he too laughed, lacking any emotion.
Glancing he saw His back.
What is this?
Adrenaline, the body’s drug, causing him to shake.
His life lines pulsing with this concentration.
Then a clink. A glint catching his eye. Using his now free appendages to grab what seemed to be the life and expectancy of freedom.
Seeing a smile with in the dark his hysterical laugh began forming in his rib cage.
He held it in, waiting for the right moment to release.
The tumbler ratcheted and clicked.
Releasing his arms from these chains.

Laughing he ran as they had their necks cut open letting out oxygen and black.
They looked on in horror as hands were placed on him, and he slaughtered the last of the filth.

 

Another dream.

The bird was being talked about.  I really don’t recall what we were conversing about though.  The birth of one of it’s offsprings was valued. As I took the bearer of the young bird, I carefully held it.  As I walked outside I knew I was careful enough to not crush it. Last time I killed one, but it was on accident.  I threw this one up in the air and watched it fly away, successfully without me hindering it.

With this could come and awakening within my mind, being able to see something that all should be able to see.  But are not able to due to the naturalism of culture, and desensitizing of  a humans mind.

Looking to see how deep the rabbit hole really does go, not even hitting clay yet.

Red bird.

I watched as the bird flew around the room. As I spun around to keep track of it, goosebumps began to form upon my skin in anticipation of catching it. I was wondering why it was in the house in the first place. It landed by the couch so I threw my sweatshirt over it, thinking I was careful, I picked it up and walked to the door. I opened it and my toes got cold from the winter gust, throwing it up in the air I noticed its feathers ascued. I though I was careful, as I watched it hit the snow on the ground, blood turned the snow to red. I knew it was dead but I didn’t know why.
it was a red bird, not a cardinal, but red and looked like a cardinal, but larger, with a proportional body to that of a sparrow.
Tell me cause I really don’t know what it is.

As it lay lifelessly in its own blood, I couldn’t help but think that this was my fault.  The desperation as the bird flew around the ceiling, looking for the escape, scared me.

Are we constantly looking for that escape like the bird?  And when finally we fail and are picked up by human hands we are just as easily broken?

Behold our power.

The lake bed is empty. Every day I go to watch a tree sprout.
It’s been about twenty years sense I first began the process of mentally documenting what the birth looks like.
It’s been a while sense i’ve seen anything new.
The dirt itself around us is just as soulless and hopeless as the world it inhabits.
The green, some say is a sign of hope and new beginnings.
But as I stare so intently at the veins that paint the surfaces of the many leaves I know I hold the life of this tree in my hands.
As I think about it, I feel the pulsing of the water through it’s veins, thinking about where it’s coming from.
As it takes in the excrement of human lungs to live.

I can kill it.