Sinister: The Pastel Manifesto

[Dante Dethrone]

To whom:

     Once again the darkness has fallen upon my humble
abode.  My front door undulates under the force of
winter winds, and my thoughts sway from realistic to
idealistic in the night's wake.  Is this mind of mine
alone in the shallowness of this deep blue mood?  Is
my mood the same hue as any of you?

The wait:     
     The slightest sound, the softest sigh, or the
wink of an eye could stall our demise; however, these
very same things might just prolong our goodbyes, but
the inevitable is nigh ...  the inevitable is nigh.

The who:     
     We stand on our tectonic plates, and we squirm
and shake, and we point our fingers here and there--
this way and that.  Who is the accuser?  Who is the
accused?  Are we the users, or are we the abused?  If
nothing else we are entirely irreverent, as the world
has enveloped us with its tiresome indifference.

The the:     
     The elitist.  The fascist.  The racist. The
aristocrat.  The capitalist.   The authority.  The
government.  The monarchy.  The dynasty.  The Bigot. 
The people.
     
The waste:
     A vast abundance of the natural resource that is
the human being.  A resource so flagrantly squandered
and at the same time ignored.  A power so mighty as to
bring about its own destruction.  A confused mass of
wasted energy and matter.  A plan without cause.  A
cause without direction.  A pointless endeavor to make
sense.  A circle of life, and a cycle of death.

The want:
     If only we were all children.
     
The wave:
     There is something that flows beneath your foggy
dreams like the pristine refraction of sunbeams in a
clean stream.  The intensity of restlessness
dissipates and settles at the bottom of nothing as if
it were nothing before.  A calm only the ocean knows
can be ours for sure.  Casual contentness.  What is
truly profound will most definitely resound, somehow. 

Until then, friend, around the bend i'll send you an
occasional glance, a mere wave enhanced with love
attached, and a smile to match.
     
-not to be continued-

imaginary elixirs to the lot of you,
jeremy

p.s.:  in case you're wondering, i probably didn't    

       mean to make any sense.  i'm just a bored 
       insomniac.

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