The Island of Dreams
Hey, ho, away we go!
There goes another shipload.
Hey, ho, away we go!
Here comes another busload.
Mother, Mother,
Look! The pirates are here,
Raise the flag. You, come on out,
Get in line, over here.
Hurry! Please! Don’t make me shout.
My Dear, My Dear,
It is starting to rain,
Hang the babies out to dry.
Nuisances yet again,
They do not but eat and cry.
Sisters, Sisters,
Put on your girly grins.
May, you saving on make-up?
June, your dolls in the tins!
Please?
And put away those tea-cups.
Good Sirs, Good. Sirs,
Welcome to the Jungle.
Have a good look. Take your time.
Good choice, she’s just a girl.
Fear not, this is not a crime.
Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir?
That’s June, she’s real hot!
Sorry, got no more like her.
Why not give May a shot?
She’s twelve, a little older.
No, Sir. No. Sir,
It’s bad for my image.
Her? She’s my eldest daughter.
Not passed the legal age,
Only six. Wait till next year.
Please, Sir! …, Please Sir.
Sir, fancy a double?
Quick to please, that’s her mother.
Great. For ten more roubles:
Buy mature tease, my mother.
Reader, Reader.
Welcome to the Island of Dreams. Welcome to My parallel universe. Yes, I am sick, sickened. The primal instinct of my inhuman nature overcame, eroded, negated, atrophied, exfoliated, whatever, the remains of my affiliation to kinship. Pursuing the permanent merger of my soul to my shadow, I have swung to the tide of them: The timeless tide of time. Pretty Pity.
Detached, I poison my restless mutant carcass, yes, a carcass, for I was born, made, a minute less than Human. Madam, please. Perceive, Receive, Preserve me in my present disposition, I am perfectly whole in my homeostasis. Status Quo. Simple question. I know what I mean. Ah yes, Joyfully inhuman. Inhuman?
Reader,
I am caught between two lands: The North and The South. The busloads from the North, the shiploads from the South. Who dictated that The North and The South will be greater than the Middle?
I’m fine. For as in all Vortices, the Middle is that in which all forms revolve to and through. Perhaps I am not fine, after all, anymore. This Vortex is senseless- it does not conform to the laws of Being. Perhaps it is not a Vortex after all. Perhaps.
Reader,
Imagine. Perhaps? Imagine. Imagine yourselves as the fence between North and South. The in-between. Imagine. Imagine yourselves as the Island of Dreams, perpetually used by North and South. Imagine a land of permanent darkness amidst the lands of the Light. Imagine they name this land the “Land of Ceaseless Light”, the Island of Dreams. A land of Ceaseless Night, really. A land of Ceaseless Red Lights.
Imagine I like red. Imagine I like the red lights. Imagine the red lights as the warning lights of Being. Imagine, hustle-bustle-scatter-scuttle-helter-skelter through the warning signs of Being and enter the realms of Dreams in the Land of Ceaseless Light. Imagine the ferocity of the Dreams that lies in wait in the Island of Dreams. Imagine the dreams, of pleasure, of pains, of your deepest being. Imagine the source of all truths, the Categorical Imperative, lies within the realms of Dreams. Imagine the key to that entrance lies only in the Island of Dreams. Imagine the dreams of Dreams. Imagine the Dream of all Dreams, that which shapes the route of your human Vortex. Imagine Sulphur, Imagine Ice. Awesome sight, awesome fright. Nice. Perhaps you should Imagine. Remember to Imagine. Imagine your Remembrance of Things Past, A la Recherche du temps perdu. Look forward backwards: Imagine hiding in your future. Imagine Inhumanity? Imagine Supra-humanity. Perhaps.
Another Star has fallen.
This is a good sign.
I must awake a different being.
Let’s Dance. Mori, the messenger of Time has arrived. I am leaving to live forever. Imagine.
Imagine I am learning to live forever. Imagine my image: An undying Being. Just Imagine.
Hmm, this rain shows no sign of abating. Perhaps I had better release Jason from the clothes-line. What then? Should I drown him like my brothers, and his? Or should he live on?
Perhaps
In the Island of Dreams: Singapore, gone wrong.
Really wrong.
May, May
You come to my room. Now!
I want to sleep. Now!
I will awake a different being. A Dieu.
Hey, ho, away we go!
There goes another busload.
Hey, ho, away we go!
Here comes another shitload.
There goes another shipload.
Hey, ho, away we go!
Here comes another busload.
Mother, Mother,
Look! The pirates are here,
Raise the flag. You, come on out,
Get in line, over here.
Hurry! Please! Don’t make me shout.
My Dear, My Dear,
It is starting to rain,
Hang the babies out to dry.
Nuisances yet again,
They do not but eat and cry.
Sisters, Sisters,
Put on your girly grins.
May, you saving on make-up?
June, your dolls in the tins!
Please?
And put away those tea-cups.
Good Sirs, Good. Sirs,
Welcome to the Jungle.
Have a good look. Take your time.
Good choice, she’s just a girl.
Fear not, this is not a crime.
Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir?
That’s June, she’s real hot!
Sorry, got no more like her.
Why not give May a shot?
She’s twelve, a little older.
No, Sir. No. Sir,
It’s bad for my image.
Her? She’s my eldest daughter.
Not passed the legal age,
Only six. Wait till next year.
Please, Sir! …, Please Sir.
Sir, fancy a double?
Quick to please, that’s her mother.
Great. For ten more roubles:
Buy mature tease, my mother.
Reader, Reader.
Welcome to the Island of Dreams. Welcome to My parallel universe. Yes, I am sick, sickened. The primal instinct of my inhuman nature overcame, eroded, negated, atrophied, exfoliated, whatever, the remains of my affiliation to kinship. Pursuing the permanent merger of my soul to my shadow, I have swung to the tide of them: The timeless tide of time. Pretty Pity.
Detached, I poison my restless mutant carcass, yes, a carcass, for I was born, made, a minute less than Human. Madam, please. Perceive, Receive, Preserve me in my present disposition, I am perfectly whole in my homeostasis. Status Quo. Simple question. I know what I mean. Ah yes, Joyfully inhuman. Inhuman?
Reader,
I am caught between two lands: The North and The South. The busloads from the North, the shiploads from the South. Who dictated that The North and The South will be greater than the Middle?
I’m fine. For as in all Vortices, the Middle is that in which all forms revolve to and through. Perhaps I am not fine, after all, anymore. This Vortex is senseless- it does not conform to the laws of Being. Perhaps it is not a Vortex after all. Perhaps.
Reader,
Imagine. Perhaps? Imagine. Imagine yourselves as the fence between North and South. The in-between. Imagine. Imagine yourselves as the Island of Dreams, perpetually used by North and South. Imagine a land of permanent darkness amidst the lands of the Light. Imagine they name this land the “Land of Ceaseless Light”, the Island of Dreams. A land of Ceaseless Night, really. A land of Ceaseless Red Lights.
Imagine I like red. Imagine I like the red lights. Imagine the red lights as the warning lights of Being. Imagine, hustle-bustle-scatter-scuttle-helter-skelter through the warning signs of Being and enter the realms of Dreams in the Land of Ceaseless Light. Imagine the ferocity of the Dreams that lies in wait in the Island of Dreams. Imagine the dreams, of pleasure, of pains, of your deepest being. Imagine the source of all truths, the Categorical Imperative, lies within the realms of Dreams. Imagine the key to that entrance lies only in the Island of Dreams. Imagine the dreams of Dreams. Imagine the Dream of all Dreams, that which shapes the route of your human Vortex. Imagine Sulphur, Imagine Ice. Awesome sight, awesome fright. Nice. Perhaps you should Imagine. Remember to Imagine. Imagine your Remembrance of Things Past, A la Recherche du temps perdu. Look forward backwards: Imagine hiding in your future. Imagine Inhumanity? Imagine Supra-humanity. Perhaps.
Another Star has fallen.
This is a good sign.
I must awake a different being.
Let’s Dance. Mori, the messenger of Time has arrived. I am leaving to live forever. Imagine.
Imagine I am learning to live forever. Imagine my image: An undying Being. Just Imagine.
Hmm, this rain shows no sign of abating. Perhaps I had better release Jason from the clothes-line. What then? Should I drown him like my brothers, and his? Or should he live on?
Perhaps
In the Island of Dreams: Singapore, gone wrong.
Really wrong.
May, May
You come to my room. Now!
I want to sleep. Now!
I will awake a different being. A Dieu.
Hey, ho, away we go!
There goes another busload.
Hey, ho, away we go!
Here comes another shitload.
posted by Tormented genius at 11:58 PM
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