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The Wild
I wanted to write a poem here about being a first or third wing... accepting the wild... all that jazz, but I couldn't think of anything too terribly creative. Maybe later. I dunno. I don't think people believe enough about non-reality. It really could be there- I've felt it before- but people just don't make themselves open to it. Phenomenally otherworldly things happen, not everyday, but frequently enough that it should be noticeable, and people just turn a blind eye. So believe in the wild. Kill Death. Be a wing, even if you don't want to fly. Just do something to separate you from what we generally see as what is expected.
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