I fade in & out. Somedays I wake up but I don't stop dreaming. I am easily distracted, fascinated, & utterly absorbed by frivolities such as the sound of the rain or right shade of purple. I live at my own pace. I always stop to smell the roses.
It struck me quite some time ago that humanity is asleep. Twitching under anesthetic, it is collectively tormented by recurring nightmares, while its ability to imagine is eaten away. But it's time to start a new page now, to sit up & have breakfast.
Ambiguity. Secrets. The deliberately unopened box. I'm forever mindful of the gap, of what may befall within the cracks. Unwritten words, unspoken dialogue. Mystery, suggestion, & infinite potential. These are a few of my favourite things.
All I need is a hungry audience to feed, to instill me with a sense of purpose, a fitting excuse to dream the dream. So by all means, bring me your empty plates, & don't hesitate to tell your waiter how the vocabulary tastes.
Anonymous. Kate Atkinson. William Blake. David Bowie. Lewis Carroll. Kurt Cobain. Paulo Coelho. Billy Corgan. Douglas Coupland. Roald Dahl. Neil Gaiman. Franz Kafka. Maynard James Keenan. Jack Kerouac. David Lynch. Bob Marley. Morrissey. Haruki Murakami. Audrey Niffenegger. Chuck Palahniuk. Edgar Allan Poe. Anne Rice. Patrick Süskind. Hunter S Thompson. Tom Waits. Thom Yorke
