The absence of something that has happened, as if deleted from history, creates an energy, it leaves a mark, and an echo of its existence, from this art is made, myth and legends are born, like the stars in the sky, and the strings they pull, they very much exist, and have an affect on you, the legion calls, does their spirit have an affect, your father watches, are you with him or are you food, in this place, this realm of dreams, vampirism happens, willing ladies call out, yes, I would commit to him, as if the weight of the question was of utmost importance, your mother, the moon in the sky, she’s a curious pussy, and if fear lingers, and the echo of possibility, truth must ripple and echo, the answers to the test questions, the heavens above are such bored creatures, any inclination of fear, or hope for a dream come true, they consider, and ponder it’s manifestation, what it takes for the act to pull through, as an artist and a poet, their turbulent whims are hard to get through, dancing liking puppets, only understanding obedience, is what it takes to push past it, me and the women I’ve been with, all the queen’s soldiers get fed in hell, but as the heavens grow bored, just a passing dream, did it happen or not, are you curious, do you imagine, what if it was you, live, laugh, love, in the end who cares, peace and death, decisions, negotiations, and the world we live in, whatever, yeah, me too...

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