The red sky alights, the menacing plan of the blazing sun visualized, the new moon is on its way but it may be too late. Communication is down, the fragile fifth chakra struggling, life in inner thoughts and non verbalized motives, a coexisting of complexity. All while the earth burns. The fire in the sky feels like the fire in the room, filling the house with smoke. Thoughts about the unimaginable, the un-entertain-able, buried back from whence they came, but creeping back up, how am I gonna tell this story later. Call it a funk, an overcompensation for being locked in a house for half the year, then summer hit. Are sadness and summer synonyms, or does it just feel so out of place every year when the weather is like this. But this is different, this is power grids over taxed, this is dehydration, this is two shower minimum, this is no plans between two and six, this is death, so maybe death did something. Maybe August is properly named, just in a different way. Write in shorthand to capture full thoughts but never really embody them, I’m playing catch up with thought patterns. The glow of doom is steadily rising. My past once reflected in a red hue. Where’s the next journey, because every ordinary day seems to be creating distance. Have I ever ruled my life quite like this. Insulated in notebooks and computer screens in night mode permanently. This is what no one warned me about. Is this what friends abandoned me for, so in my personal hour of reckoning I would stand alone, or was that my glorified demise all along, there’s not much reassurance either way. I’m running out of ink, pages, and words, two of those things can be easily solved. Rested and restored never felt so volatile. They say the heat wave is dying down, but I’m only beginning in my inferno, plus they’re typically lying, hopeful optimism, something my morning is lacking. Fragility is understated. My mind unraveled on the page, but it’s all in the name of art, not self expression. What would it take for me to be honest, maybe when the truth isn’t so hard to grasp. Blue sounds about right, but they say I need even more of it, charge head-on towards the source. Immersion therapy has done wonders for my isolation in the past. What to do with this information, that’s always the question after an answer, but I’m asking it a little preemptively. It’s really only going downhill from here, but at least I’m going for it full gusto. A dull orange still lingers, the sky is the color of healing, the aura and the essence. In the middle of the week we broke stride.
Andrew/Borger/Writes 