Golden

It was a huge forest that she had been walking through. A long path made out of golden bricks.
The gold was the same kind of gold as his eyes, its eyes, her eyes, their eyes, our eyes, his eyes.
On her way she met a fair few of characters, Webster's creations. She wanted to find Home again.
There were no trees and she had never been mellow. The coloured girls never used to sing so high.
She climbed onto the topmost branch and started to bellow. Her voice flew far above the towers.

"Have I ever been here?" She wondered as the colours spewed from her ears.
The answer didn't come so much as it misted the air. Red, White and Blue.
What is the colour of this forest I ask you now dear reader, if you have it in your minds eye.
It is the colour of sadness yes? it is the colour of bread yes? it is the colour of you mothers lullabies yes?
Blue, Brown and Comfort.
She painted the skies with her gaze and they never looked quite the same.

There are six sexes, sex sixes, sick sexex, sexk sixix. O lover is a lover of a love that's been loved far to many times.
The language of the heart is to be objectified, synchronised, catagorised and liquidated.
For the sake of a socially realistic conformity of a mind that travels the road to... well you know where.
Webster had never intended this had he? I wonder what he would say now? Did he intend on the slavery of our enzymes?
I had looked within myself and seen the face of a maze, it was but a straight line all the way down to the topmost end of my hair.
It lead everywhere in the world.
I've never been to any of those places.

We met on that road, we stopped for a cup of coffee and we had a chat, She and I.
I asked her "Where have you come from?"
She replied "I came from my mother who in turn came from her mother and who came from her mother... it has been a family tradition for centuries."
She asked me "Where have you come from?"
and I replied "my father came and there I was as did his father and there my father was as did his father and then his father was and this has been a tradition for eons."
"It is the way things are yes?"
"quite so."
"How did you come to be in this place?"
"I walked a long way and with every step I took I laid another brick in the bridge that would eventually transport me to a world where the sky seemed to be tainted with gold."


Is this the return to Oz?

She had always wondered about my line of lineage, after about a year of sipping she finally asked me about it.
I had always intended on telling her the next time it was my turn to speak but I had always forgotten how to express my family through my skin.
She laughed and said "yes"
Turns out she's my sister. She's not the sister you all know and love but she is rather my sister as my brother as my mother as my... my... my... my.... mice.

I have this image stuck in my head, it's been there for a long time. I can see myself floating above Reykjavík. I am shining like a star and all the hate and anger and bigotry and death and sickness and envy is flowing into me. I am a converter, I glow as all of these energies flow into my heart and with every fiber of my existence I transform it a healing power. When I have changed all of this energy. I explode and die. The healing energy flows from the point of my death in a shining pink and green and golden wave that travels across the earth. It heals the hearts of everyone it passes giving them the freedom to be open and happy and loving. Every single machine in the world is transformed to become a natural alternative that will keep the earth healthy and the earth is healed as well. Every single animal in the world finds a way to live without killing and every single human in the world sees the truth of life and death and they too find a way to live without killing. As the wave reaches the opposite end of the planet it condenses in a single point and shoots out from the planet to the sun and there it becomes a perpetual fuel source that will give the planet earth sunshine for eternity.

I would be happy but you see there is a house growing in a mouse growing in a tree thats rooted in my brain. There's not enough room for my thoughts and them at the same time. It is quite embarrassing.

Where do emotions live?

We finished our coffees and said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. We have a little sewing thread between us. Short as eternity and long as a second.

It is a joke and as a joke it makes people laugh.

It is a speech and as a speech it gives inspiration.

It is a story and as a story people don't believe it.

It is a lie and as a lie people believe every single word of it.

It is what you make it and as everything you make it's prone to malfunction.

When I reached the forest I climbed to the topmost branch and started to bellow.
The sky never looked quite the same.
The bricks where the colour of his eyes.
There were no trees.
The coloured girls sang
and it was huge.