three hundred and sixty degrees

Ever since the the reincarnation up in the mountains the fear's been diluted
Maybe it wasn't a reincarnation, maybe negativity just had enough for one night
Maybe the mountains just moved geologically the way mountains do when you woo them with whatever it is that opens your eyes in the morning.
Whatever lets you calm down an infant giving a vision of stillness with sounds similar to the universe idling.


Ever since the experience of touch , never wanting to let it go, monitoring for more of the same, not stopping.
Maybe it was just some sleepy cells without an encoded address ,
being bitten by something pure for a split second.


Without peace there is war , conflicts of sickos with agendas blowing smoke to try and make the
meat grinder on the ground look sexy and serendipitous .
Proof of unruly gods and the barbarian way.

Without love
the markets would lose their motivation and down anti-pychotics and other chemicals that make it easy to learn to love the weapons
being passed from head to hands.
Existence kept together with an elastic band.

A story without a state is a story that has escaped,
flipping the eyes around three hundred and sixty degrees.