Devil's Logia

Fine wine and fruit offerings.  The full moon stirs the restless souls to awaken and speak.  Dare I say, reach for the low hanging fruit from the sparkling tree?  These are dreams.  It seems I have a penchant to walk down imaginary streets as much as I do for living in a dreamscape.  Sometimes, dreams and reality collide.  Confusion ensues.  It is me.  But I also have a penchant for battshittery.  I love the absurd.  Architecture and carvings lace my world.  What about the face that smiles through the branches and then disappears?  I love a good farce.  I love a good tragedy.  The symbols on my class ring were the faces of comedy and tragedy.  The faces of the theater that they represent.  But those faces could also foreshadow the future after leaving high school.  Monk chants and opera stars.  Sounds that reverberated through my headphones.  I suppose this happens after an illness.  It happens after summer and winter arrive in the same week.  My bones and muscles are sore and ache.  My head burns.  The rest of my body shivers with chills.  It's like I'm constantly fighting with myself over where to turn. Nothing is sacred except the possibilities.  And they are like carrots on a string.  Possibilities always exist but you never catch them.  As a child, my earliest dreams were to become an archeologist, a police officer (detective) and a cemetery caretaker.  I haven't achieved or attempted any of these things.  I always envied the old men who rode the lawn mowers at the cemeteries.  Life in a small town is bliss as would be working amongst the dead in an even smaller town (of dead people).  Why do these cemeteries seem so small?  There had to be many more before us who were buried.  Take a bite of the forbidden fruit.  It sparkles in the moonlight and temps the young woman who stands below.  She was just checking for bears rooting through her garbage.  But there are other things in the night and in the forest, just a few feet from her back yard, than she can imagine.  The trees change at night and so does everything in the woods.  The gurgling sound of a stream can take on a creepy quality.  Any deviation in the complexity of the sound can make a brain scream to stop.