Dear Mister Templar,
The irony a realization of so much lifetime lost by virtue of reactively dedicating oneself to an ordained ‘future.’
The liberation a misty apparition: visible peripherally as pure brilliant green (don’t understand the coloration) manifesting as the ‘Tree Spirits.’
The vertiginous terror arising from obvious lack of short-term intellectual and emotional bandwidth. Turning torturing ears screaming.
The slender connectivity blind rabid confidence there no longer exists the ‘now’ we knew as children. Quantum intermingled pasts and futures. Teeth grinding jaw aching.
The apprentice trembling trying to turn off the power switch heart racing the machine transfiguring melting alchemistically changing into ice water filling the room.
He is drowning. He breathes and sucks it in…
Richard E Marion; Art Bicycles Consciousness Words.