More to be expunged of accumulate residue from strained white and grey goo. Circulating through wiry tracts of fat-covered facts as these chattering bats percolate up the canals. These mottled panels stained with histories of painful rain, those deranged scapegoats howling into the moon insane. Purged we may breathe, a scourge has been relieved of its duties; it up and leaves. Like two trains that thrust with feigned exhausts and sustain high velocity to take the lead and speed forth on the road towards an end no being has ever been. Since this track is laden with fearful deer, we steer well clear but stay near what’s dear. 

Staring fixedly at this pigmented ocher banner, I stammer melancholic. Waning of heart as I hear stories from across many of the farthest-flung counties. Waning of clear access to liberated energy forged by union of subatomics in heavenly engines, beclouded by barrenness of desert journeying. Doubt-enshrouded and debt-ridden, climbing exasperated, wellspring excavation procedures ongoing, gong ringing and food bringing notwithstanding. Peaked steeples speaking loudest at mid-morning freshness and coloration. Rays splaying out through pilfered cobblestones of cotton candy cloud forms. A landscape receiving careful caresses and purring in satisfied breezes that wash over me comfortingly. 

Once upon a merry old time in jungles long gone to the fertile blooming procession of time, a man climbed up a magnanimous sycamore, perched upon its supple boughs and watered the forest floor from above. A woman passing by underneath caught wind of the deeds underway and stepped forth into the magnificent yellow spray, to paradoxically rejoice at the natural acts of life that drench us with too many waste products and asphyxiate our prettiest buds and poison our loveliest membranous coverings, in an over-theatrical symbol of the demonstrable pathology here and everywhere on display, as a poignant shock-value moment of prophesy. 

At the very same time, however, the dough is jubilant and ever-rising. Though the rain is acidic and the gasses prolific, the masses are transforming, ever so slowly and soporific. There are speedy conveyors that propel the willing astonishingly. Dispelling the grievous sentiments as we ascend, until the moment that we are sent back. We are all strapped to one another and can climb together or burn in a flagrant pile. Some flounder, others thrust. All must trust. They that hinder the upswelling most of all must be loved. They that manufacture the turbo boosters are doing the holy work. But all in all, we’re in it together, responsible for one another, to serve in whatever suitable capacities, to heighten the pursuit of the highest veracities. Therefore, awaken the slumbering communal mind, brighten the vision of the hidden eye, allow the selfed mind to subside, and the prescient side to preside, where the guiding hands of the Divine reside, that we may glide graceful into Heaven, and there at peace abide.