Sometimes the lies we tell are more truthful than the truth. The names of all the daisy chains came clear to mind as Joker looked up at the sky. The daisy chains were strings of people, people connected by metaphorical strings, that had in some way changed, altered, or influenced his life.
Blue blubber abounds beneath the deep green sea, sickly, stocky, sublime against the sun. Her dress flows into the water, like a dream, like nothing you have ever seen, like a solar eclipse from the fourteenth century. To behold that dress was to behold the everything that exists in us all. But to her, it was a simple Sunday dress, nothing out of the ordinary, bought at some old opportunity shop down south. She didn't quite remember where.
The clock ticked, the clock on the wall. The clock ticked steadily to the beat, a steady sixty to the minute. Harvey stood motionless before the clock, a large grandfather, wooden and with golden arms and trimmings. Harvey stood watching the face of the clock, studying it up close and the clock just stood there, staring straight back at him. He wondered if the clock knew anything at all. It could tell the time, but did it actually know what the time was, and what that meant in reality. His head told him no. His heart however was not so sure. Perhaps this clock knew fathoms more about time then any human that had walked this heavy planet. Perhaps clocks are the only things in existence that truly knew a single thing about time. We were all just guessing.
From where springs this singular? How did the gods evolve? Are they building civilisations in the minds of our loved ones? What is this monotheism fashion icon that seems to be terrorising the circuit?
One last dash to the finish line. You know that this this is coming up fast, and yet you remain calm. One day it will happen, and then it will just breeze on past you, like it was yesterday, and everything will be as it should, and nothing will be out of place, the way it is right now.
And so we come to the end. What is it, but a new beginning?
Blue blubber abounds beneath the deep green sea, sickly, stocky, sublime against the sun. Her dress flows into the water, like a dream, like nothing you have ever seen, like a solar eclipse from the fourteenth century. To behold that dress was to behold the everything that exists in us all. But to her, it was a simple Sunday dress, nothing out of the ordinary, bought at some old opportunity shop down south. She didn't quite remember where.
The clock ticked, the clock on the wall. The clock ticked steadily to the beat, a steady sixty to the minute. Harvey stood motionless before the clock, a large grandfather, wooden and with golden arms and trimmings. Harvey stood watching the face of the clock, studying it up close and the clock just stood there, staring straight back at him. He wondered if the clock knew anything at all. It could tell the time, but did it actually know what the time was, and what that meant in reality. His head told him no. His heart however was not so sure. Perhaps this clock knew fathoms more about time then any human that had walked this heavy planet. Perhaps clocks are the only things in existence that truly knew a single thing about time. We were all just guessing.
From where springs this singular? How did the gods evolve? Are they building civilisations in the minds of our loved ones? What is this monotheism fashion icon that seems to be terrorising the circuit?
One last dash to the finish line. You know that this this is coming up fast, and yet you remain calm. One day it will happen, and then it will just breeze on past you, like it was yesterday, and everything will be as it should, and nothing will be out of place, the way it is right now.
And so we come to the end. What is it, but a new beginning?
