The Mute Diary of Perfect Insanity
If It Cannot Be Proven, It Already Has Been.
I am only in the car, as usual. The reflection of technology appears in the window. I attempt to make eye contact with the man in the moon, he seems angry. The bare trees reach pleading toward the heavens, and give the silver light a strobe effect as we pass. The black vastness that surrounds the stars blinds me as I stare through the atmosphere.
Time passes, as it always does, and on the way back I continue my search. The moon's face appears more sorrowful, as though he has realized he is not enraged so much as disappointed in us. Thin pointed stars fall as teardrops and flames roll through the irises of dumbstruck onlookers.
Very short ideas float through my head and disappear into smoke.
I only have one thought.
I am alone.
But maybe we are not.
Time passes, as it always does, and on the way back I continue my search. The moon's face appears more sorrowful, as though he has realized he is not enraged so much as disappointed in us. Thin pointed stars fall as teardrops and flames roll through the irises of dumbstruck onlookers.
Very short ideas float through my head and disappear into smoke.
I only have one thought.
I am alone.
But maybe we are not.