Have you seen yourself

Have you seen yourself in Victorian times, did your drums imprint on your brain, translations of a paused-period’s harpsichord-vibration? Was your alien abduction a memory reconstructed, or fragments of information learned, supra-injected to form a world projected in the space we’re told candles won’t burn. Or, what if time is out of place, chronological-measurement a lofty-figment of imagination, mis-read due to spinning food on spoons while being fed. Our version of reality perpetually defaced, by sources forgiven eternally by zombies who hold faith in nothing more than his grace. The past is clear in our ability to slow time physically, man’s secrets throughout time, packaged and sold to us through the mind’s voice of a disguised comic’s soliloquy.

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