I imagined an inverted world infinitely so in the looking glass of infinity. Cherubs perhaps dance there, but also powers and principalities gaze with jealous longing on moments such as these. The divine. The momentary pulverantic slice imperfectly made. Always there before the making, always after.

I see the grazing masses feeding on their regurgitated shit, fed back to them like shiny new donuts or turkish delights. Vanities for fools, victims of the prestige. Worst still refusing to see the light, the infinity in the looking glass. It makes me want to hate, but I’ve offspring I committed to this bedlam. I wouldn’t be surprised if they come to see their fathers sorrow for what it is. Fear, cowardice, loneliness, mindlessness, dick.

I keep a candle lit for hope in this dark hour.