The mark of the beast
Monday, April 25, 2011
Ellis Baby Crib Conversion Kit
I have my desk, under a window overlooking a sunny patio. A tree grows red leaves of autumn warm fury. I wander through the leaves yellow and hanging clothes, pulled by the tasks I set myself the first time and I have not yet met. I do not know which side to be.
really do not know if this house mouth or swallow me what I glimpse beyond the window with the sun, their clothes in the wind, the tree shy, ceilings and plucked pigeons.
And nothing more, because the sky is wide and blue imperturbable.
I do not know what else to write this post tasteless, window Monday with a headache and something like a wilderness feel on my eyelids as I watch and watch.
Then I'll publish and read that this would be the post 666, horror!
Apocalypse and the Antichrist, destruction, end, agony, death, blood, tears, war. All that comes to mind with this issue. And I remember the dream last night where I spent swimming in an Olympic swimming pool or a sea. Now that I think was a sea border, not to shore sandstones. A concrete border that gripped me before leaving again ejected toward the other end, which drove me to grasp, to get back out and so I spent the night swimming. Less death and war and anti-Christ, everything else I dreamed swimming. I remember practicing different styles and not dream of leaving my right arm hurting, so I had to swim ingeniármelas that arm, yes it was the apocalypse. A whole ocean to myself, and as I sank and drowned me, the only thing left arm was swimming party, the party left arm because right, wrong, thanks.
Last night the sea, now the 666 and all eyes this window and this house that I swallowed.
Is the mark of the beast?
Or the beast that makes me.
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