Let my Fingers Sing

Inside those fields and orchards there are currents and ambitions. Flocks of flying creatures flap wings of desire and creative folly.

In the confines of my mind a universe exists outside any other. Solar systems of anticipation cluttered with planets of opinion and tactful scrutiny. Surrounding a cluster of knowledge and kindness, are fragmented moons of assumption and astute judgment.

Orbiting the planet logic are satellites of upset and disturbed emotions. A small bi-plane zooms by at lightspeed with a banner that reads "defective happiness can't be cured".

Mr. Function relaxes on the sofa and his mind pipes in images of panic and cold feet. Dreams involving the viciousness of man towards man.

Never in his life had he seen a flower that did not bloom blue. What was it about those organisms that made him so unhappy. Do not pay heed to those worries and wishes. "they're not worth the time" she said to him in a very garbbled and magic mumbo jumbo of sounds.

Time had brought vast roadways of invisible weakness to his universe.

Demolition has resumed.