Paradisal Outcome

We sleep the days internal.

Deleted as one, we die and wake in atomic variation. This dies as well a lucid dream...painted artel to artel. An archetype, a plebeian of subconscious, awake. The dream a relative mild neurosis. We swim into swills of drain and sea deeply afflicted. Neglected so that entwines might corrupt the invariable, hasten our oil into a strange weight alchemical; the very knees of our Prana, Pneuma or Orange of Chi, the basics to what we perceive.

Life prescribes us mocking. Continuous life. What we imbibe is imagination, in this the seeds to our cogent plurality. Samples of awareness and DNA.. the cold fruit is our constancy living without living becoming our paradisal outcome.