‘I have many words but their power to create or solve problems is totally reliant upon my readers.’ – Spiderfingers
I nearly start laughing with madness as I see the surrealism moving toward me. But they are my family, and they've come to wish me bon voyage. At this bus stop covered in snow, I’m about to embark upon a potentially deadly one way trip. These clothes were never my choice, so off they go! I snuff my fringe fire out without the fear of death. I have questions about the world I'm about to journey to,
I don't tense up preparing for the worst as a hundred thoughts per second line my brain.
Knowledge bestows itself within my new body made of tree-pulp: I have many words but their power to create or solve problems is totally reliant upon my readers. Interpretation and the actions that spring out from them are all I can count on now.
If she is responsible for my existence and thus my attainment of this hyper-awareness then surly, most definitely, she is an avatar to be reckoned with. I am sure that the unevenness in my mother's voice is but a momentary slide into human fragility,
‘I am the flowerbed from which your fantasy has burst...'
Scrolling through my recent past all typed up in a font I can't remember the name of, 'The woman whose body I’m in won’t take her focus off the soil being...'
Whatever I've become lives in a dimension where it is possible to be awake and asleep at the same time, '...so suspicious of this earthy humanoid that calls itself Gaia...'
A reality where I can do but one thing: hear her voice reading my words. I get it now, and I hope she studies me well, for an answer must surely reside between my covers. My divine creator continues to read the first of my seven part odyssey as her voice becomes fervent, empowered. This is the voice of someone who'd manufacture impossible internal wars, just so she might be handed a product, a book. An instruction manual to to aid her very survival...