A Friend to Old Age

A Friend to Old Age

I am still found hunting in my dreams for answers why male is so contaminated; although they are like deep shadows in the woods, silent alertness to the figures that come and go-swift and softly they glide by me, no indiscretion. Sometimes I try to repel the advance of the ancient vintage sumptuous building of a heroic ending, knowing my absolute age is not my dream age-and this is impossible for me at times, to stick to reality, however it is offered freely-this heroic dream state, however I suppose much in the woods, these woods, my intellect tells my subconscious tells me, immediately its chief pleasure is in a kind of an elegant ending-that's how it should be, not how it is or will be, or was: why stick to reality, let's go to the impossible...
Tags: | technology | dreams | personal blog |