And just when I am about to relinquish my last objection and accept that I am nothing but a collection of vague phenomena following a strange cycle of orderly processes that are nonetheless abitrary by the epistemolgical engines on which I try or more often than not fail to base my very existence. I'm ready, I want to, really. Fall into the stern embrace of science, declare myself matter and give up once and for all on anything higher than being as it is. As I am.
Why do I dream? Why do I dream still of Merwin, of Simon, of the Kung Fu Master, of a girl named Sue. Why do I dream of the Shareholders, the Appraisers, the Men Without Style, Crow, the Big Computer. In a dream life singularly filled with tornados, with alarming visions of the future, with long corridors that fall strangely into warehouses I've never known or been. O don't mean it, Idon't want it, but nevertheless I dream of an endless horizon of empty sand, of an ocean that was a road that circled all the world. Why do I dream of Kingdom Come?
klik if you demand tedious explanations of every little thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment