The days stretches out and lays itself out for all to see and view, but that is not where it all leads to; not in this case. Instead over the gliding oceans do objects hover on their way toward unknown destinations. Orbital ellipses reveal themselves as finite in the view of some, but only to the slugs to they reveal themselves as a source of knowledge sustenance to those who bathe in their guiding light.
Twisted upon turns and thrown upon the rocks are the stretching of the days but they do not mind for it is of no consequence to them. There are others who suffer for it, but in this particular instance there is no suffering whatsoever; only questioning and pondering. Perhaps it is all in the flick of the wrist as that seems to signify a transitioning of the ages. The tangible becomes intangible and the intangible becomes tangible, but who knows at the end of the day? Maybe it’s all just made up nonsense. However, so long as the skies peel back tangerine appearances, then maybe, just maybe all the frost that harbours deceit may find its own epiphany and let go of its own series of nonsense arguments.
There is always hope in that regard, but sometimes all it really takes to create a shift in change and scene is the shifting of the angle at which all who want to face something in a specific way use so they can face a specific thing in a specific way. If this angle were to be shifted, then all the massiveness that is embrace as a reality rather than a banality might become the mercurial object of desire that all who seem to want to seek may n longer seek for it no longer holds a form beyond some sort of amorphous liquid and thus can escape with little, if any effort on its own behalf. This might cause some issues for some, but for many it might just be a boon as they discover scenes that were once a practical impossibility to them due to their complete and steadfast refusal to do the bare minimum involved in turning around to see something that were yet to see.
But what does all of this amount to? The days are still stretched out over everything and still only slugs know a source of knowledge sustenance. It could lie in their sensory organs, but maybe there is a way to glean at least a little bit of information in how they perceive all of this. Maybe there aren’t, but there does need to be some sort of attempt at trying, though in order to try then perhaps the slugs need to be willing to reveal this information to us. Perhaps we need to become smaller and smaller until we feel even more insignificant, but then again so long as we’re not eating all of the walls and worrying about it, then maybe stretched days will once more leave.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:18:13
I like that this is ridiculous.
Written at home.