"Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy." — Sigmund Freud
Any decent soothsayer comes with a cloud of smoke.
Ask yourself: The torn seams and tattered edges around the cloak
don't signify the better half of life. Stepping past the right.
He ambles, deaf and mad and white — as a ghost, cast in light.
There's attraction. There's ego brimming. Ego overflowing.
Speeches, lectures, cheap invectives seen through broken focus
bound by deeply coded sweeping shoulders, open coldness.
Here is the third eye of Shiva. Here is true total hypnosis.
Now keep your mind tuned sharply, my dear. It gets harder to hear.
Recline on the couch and reach back to the start of your fears.
Or don't. Pardon my queries, dark and inferior.
The process breaks upon despondence. The stark interior
of this room is meant to conjure something that probably wasn't there before
and probably won't be there again and probably requires care, remorse
or something you won't get here. So tell me your dreams, son.
Settle the screams. Sell me the scenes. Peddle your needs.
Run.
|