the echoes from the pink moon are like calm and disorienting thoughts erasing themselves at midnight instinctive and wine-drunk warm and lazy slipping into your dreams before rem with subtle yet dynamic frequencies wishing for themselves—the thoughts mind you to conclude but they don't they return every morning making you more important than you are trudging on like feathers everlessly swimming through the sky wondering on the interrogative if and wh- they will land so this can once and for all be put to rest i've called to the gods and they've given me answers all of which appearing presumably true but the timelines are vague and withstanding immediate volition life is but a dream but living... such a hyper-glyphic tribulation i walk along this road that disappears into the horizon where the mountains hold the moon like a crystal ball there is a moon within the moon and behind that something both seen and unseen telling both future and past however it's just something i see i'm not really that interested in it i wish i cared more about these ruminations but watching the calm and disorienting horizon is enough as a wise visionary once said everything is past past is past present is past future is past it is all past graveyard mind is a graveyard it is wisdom not to cling to the present whatever you do is passing in the past when i started was the future passed through the present entered into the past it is all past i spot a flock of birds passing through the inside of this vision like a silhouette that contains something meaningful i can't yet understand i'm sure the birds are flocking somewhere for some distinct reason and are content doing so by nature i admire them i try hard not to envy them but they—the thoughts mind you slip through the cracks the tepid meanderings names timelines hells the pretend elysium ordinary things with unordinary feelings perceptions of good and bad and god and people with toy opinions about this whole thing thinking they're more germane than they are trying to understand possibilities of how these remote perceptions can exist outside of one another beyond the circumstantial it is all irrelevant to the greater gimmick but thinking makes it so we were once relieved from our pressures of living but now we are postulated by the opus of life demanding its full attention i'm drunk unfilled destined to be one with the universe and a solitary figure in existence preyed upon and prayed upon my love is there for all it is shining upon me it is how i find my purpose it is the destination of my repentance it is my forgiveness to those that fall short of the truth and myselves in the static spectrum of the ecclesiastical natures of the human being understanding life is both a fantasy and a game of reality shedding tokens of good and bad and god a vision that faces the perceptions of the universe as an expansive eternity and one that finds life as a minuscule existence that continues almost invisibly and will most certainly be forgotten ants on an anthill marching both with and without a purpose within the dream within the dream within the dream by LORIN DREXLER
Collage Artist • Graphic Designer
What is Gen Society?
Gen Society is an art space blog for visual art and creative writing collaborations, and other randomizations. Hosted by writer and musician, Lorin Drexler, this online venue is an expressive experience for those interested in the world of the arts. It is a poetic journey through the hearts and minds of contemporary artists in practice and a reflection of those that have long passed.
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