Whatever Happened to Forever?Whatever
Happened to Forever? Forever
A word moaned all to often.
By those who don't understand.
Forever? Two months. Less.
Instead say 'I cannot see greener grass at this point in time' or
'Insufficient data to compute new scenarios'.
Too many Tin men
With rusty hearts, not enough
A factor we avoid, but long for.
Do not ignore meaning, but
Subjective thoughts offer no comfort to a cog in the machine.
System error, fatal crash, error 113, reboot, reinstall.
One cog can break a machine, be that cog.
Not falling for foolish security.
Misunderstanding AmbiguityColaba. Mumbai. India.
Tom & Tom step off of the pavement into the chaos of an Indian road. The smell of fried pakoda and diesel over-whelmed them to the point it no longer existed, denying contrast as they walked at equal pace across the street. An empty bottle thoughtlessly thrown was retrieved by a street child, who contemplated it thoughtfully. As Tom & Tom walked further away into doomed potential, a put-put narrowly missed their centre, the driver then having the gall to ask if they would like a ride, "Baba please. Why like this?".
Across Madam Cama Road sat the National Gallery of Modern Art, a pristinely alien aspect exuding false 'civilisation'. Tom looked towards Tom to affirm this was the place, although it was an educated guess inferred from a low quality image. They walked past the burning trash on the other side, passing the iron-fence leading to the entrance where a
The InitiationOne quiet afternoon a mystic closed his eyes; he meditated on the veil and wished it would be lifted. On setting his mind to this task he thought, "Will I die? Is that the sacrifice I need to make?". To this thought the void answered "Yes, you must die". The mystic recoiled at the thought of oblivion and dismissed it as a construct of his own mind, and that of his ego attempting to impose order onto something unknown.
"What coin can you pay me with if all you have is illusionary?" asked the void, to which the mystic thought "Everything I have is an illusion and has no value in the light of the lifted veil". Deprived of the privacy afforded by the inner-monologue a reply came, "Yes, you are correct, so with what coin shall you pay me to lift the veil" the void again asked. The mystic fell into a deeper meditation and thought to themselves "If nothing I have has any value, then the knowledge of this must be the true value I am to pay with", to which the v
Under A Gibbous MoonIt was a dark evening, the light of a starkly gibbous moon shone ominously onto a lone Arkham building. A place rooted firmly into one of the more undesirable districts of that cursed city. The light trickled through into its Georgian interior, as if afraid of the dancing shadows it threw forward like devilish spectres. The pointed ears and peaked form of something alien to the world were cast darkly onto Howard Phillip Lovecraft by the softly tortured light. He sat reading the "The Cask of Amontillado", muttering to himself, strange musings punctuated by the curling of his lips. The cat's shadow disappeared and the scene seemed twisted for a moment, silent but for the screams of another world that could be heard echoing in the dark circuitous passageways of his mind.
Lovecraft stared stoically at the aged paper before him, pensive as he ignored this all too familiar experience. He closed the book, self indulgent self hatred and adoration of his erstwhile peer an