It was the time of remembering. A time between then and now. A journey formed along a dusty graveleved path. A bumpy, dreamy ride in a conveyance into the looking. A spectactor for visual stimuli. To find Obie Ject.
Hunger led us to stop at a degenerative abode. A place of such condemnation there was sores upon its walls. Torn fabrications of will lie about in decrepit positions. The counter an unstable declaration of intent. The past imprinted in severely faded recognition of a huge yellow M.
The road is central to foggy waterscapes and past flickers along as with the sun on a somber day. Obie Ject is confirmation? Continuation? Calibration? A story to find, its pages turn as does my ride. Slowing to an end at a stone bench where memories sit, converse, pass along the way waiting to be heard.
Coming and going, astral floating lightning bugs with tales too disjointed and out of place. A muddle. Confusion to set things in line. Breaking away, along a serene clear pool, trees interrupt the scene. Honeysuckle, overly large and unpinchable, yet heady intoxicates the mind. Crossing to the other side of broken asphalt the water races. The opposite of the opposite.
Somewhere between one-forty seven a.m. and five-seventeen a.m. there was a looking. An inspirational design to find Obie Ject. Why Obie Ject? With no clear knowledge found and lethargy settled in, my cocooned conscious fires with the rising dawn.
(actual dream)
Art: Misty Lake by Robin Hedberg
Having Coffee with my Demons 