How many people wake up, commute to work, do their job, as it pulls and pushes us, someone fills a cup, no one really knows how, Sisyphus pushes the boulder up the hill, but the economy is moving, and the job gets done either way, strings pull and you wonder what is sobriety, how is all this work done each eternity, some sort of magick, the ability to communicate, go to school and get your credentials, the heavens watch, and put you somewhere you'll be useful, even the young spirits, the fae and the gangsters, the dragons and the foxes, the river flows and along the way there is space for all sorts of spirits, water fills the lake and finds its way to the ocean, the water breaks into mountains, to somehow look at it is daunting, as the pieces are carefully placed, accidents happen each day, there is war all over the place, and reality is just becoming shittier, as the abyss pulls us in, the stock market, insurance, these ideas in the clouds, are such bright places to exist in, but knock, knock, there’s a walrus at the door, you completely zoned out, but for some reason there is still work being done, and I still receive packages from amazon…

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