Consciousness lost in the sleeves

Consciousness lost in the sleeves

***
The world spins, like a whirligig in the morning, in its dark arms-sleeves, carrying away into those wilds that you never want to go into. Into the lost fragments of feelings, into the broken toys of fate. Somewhere in the black pipes, the black holes of sleep. Somewhere at the bottom of the transparent, like pine resin, water. In the viscous madness in which everything around us is. In the throat of the sky, in the light of the bottom of the dungeon. And for now we dance a waltz with fate, everything is good, everything is positive, but as the music slows down, so everything that is left is gone, while those last glimmers of goodness remain salty cold in the fire. This is our world, and this is me.

***
… thank you for coming!