drainedSomewhere, it's raining. A slightly nutty scholar concludes that somewhere in the world, a great man has died. Actually, hundreds of thousands of great men and women are in various stages of dying, but none of their passing will affect history in the way the scholar is imagining.
Thus none of the week's passing would change history in any other way, except that it would change me.
And for that it's good enough to be documented.
The colours of the rainbow engulf and numb the senses, tunnelling through the maze of pallid prisoners, giving life yet taking life from all who surrender their sobriety. What is left are hands stretching to grab and seize whatever remnants of whatever that remained, nonchalant and oblivous to the ties that bind. In the land of Limbo where the line is erased, some remain trapped, reaching, reaching, reaching for that something that ultimately mean no thing.
Notwithstanding, the heart's unfettered concoction ultimately feeds the climax. Yet one should not be drunk with love, lest such addiction .....
