Today is disappeared… short-circuited into lucubration, and so blissfully unaware that the sun abandoned it, fading into forget like a distant regret. And you thought you would smirk, you thought you could laugh, you thought you would be able to resist this most golden of nights. You should always trust your instincts. Dystopia surrounds you. Cataclysms are imminent. Technology dehumanised you into forgetting that those mantras of the absurdly self-entitled do indeed equate to a sort of bitter truth. Take just one look into the chasm – the scene there was horrific, laden with the scars of the well-traveled, well-endured – it was indubitably fascinating. Did we really ever learn anything there? Anything pure or rare? Precisely there, in the chalice holding the nectar of the gods. We libate as time stretches out across that vast sea at sunset, and you have no choice but to bask in its radiance, amid this dearth of reason that surrounds us. Corporeal experience then transmogrifies into plangent waves crashing on the shore of the amaranthine, leading into the red mantic sky of so much forgotten in the night… but it is never about what you cannot remember, but what you cannot forget. If only to be in love with such an idea, and never relent; and to be indebted to infinity, but never forget. I would exist no more beyond that point. I can no longer exist… only live. And I only want to live… with you.
That Memorable Fancy I
Regina Spektor - The Sword & The Pen