A gaudy cacophony of ego and fear. This atmosphere is saturated in the emanations of billions of confused souls, past present and future. Even under armour, through a cold discerning glare; I’m forced to bear witness to the sickly sweet soiree, that permeates everything here; once it has left their minds, and consumed the evening light in its’ manifestation. Infectious and corrupt. Bitter black the writhing of its’ twisted heart.
That’s why I feel most level on my own in dead of night, walking streets of aftermath with time to think; as all the bullshit fades. There I have a chance, though brief; to see clearly again. Take stock of my situation, forgive human error; plot a course and hope for the best possible conditions. Avoid thoughts of the world at large; their endless fucking crazy. Take a measure of the peace; to try to still myself.
Set my sights and take a bead, upon the bright horizon. Keep moving, there’s rarely ever anything else for it.