There is chocolate in the earth, but everyone’s too afraid to find it. She stares and salivates, but it’s all too much, the airplanes falling into the sea, her mother’s cough. How can she taste anything sweet? Start with dark, and work your way up from the moon.
We wake up to meet those who aren’t like us, but we drink espresso and kiss the man who brews it but not who brings it from the dirt.
Don’t be afraid, it’s only a suit that brings you from point A to point B, and the inbetween is Screwtape’s last words. None of us, even the ones who understand, can fathom these glimpses of light called Present.
Places aren’t spaces but momentary passages through a wormhole, and the Past and Future haunt us into crusty, damp caves where we hide away from the sun.
Are there such truths as an overlap of souls? Let’s crawl away into the bushes and find out—let’s dance until our feet blister because I am the the ladybug, kookookachoo—and laugh, kookaburra, laugh. We all go a little mad sometimes, and I know you have, too.