As my consciousness returns to me, I smell the sweet scent of my freshly washed linen. My eyes don’t quite open, but I can feel my silky sheets all around me. My head tosses in drowsy bliss and my arms flail to swim out of the covering. Once the blanket has fallen from my face, the sun hits my eyelids begging them to open. As I blinked my sleep away, I glanced down at my arms. Catching sight of what appear to be purple tentacles, I blink more furiously in an attempt to shake whatever trance I’ve been in. When the octopus arms before me still stand, I try to move them. They writhe and curl creepily up to my face and swipe my perplexed eyes. Feeling the rubbery suctions against my skin lead me to believe that this is not a dream.

I scream to the top of my lungs and jump out of bed. But, oh, what have I done that for? My legs! They look as those of a tyrannosaurus rex! I stomp and my bedroom shakes terribly, disturbing the books from my shelf. Scared of my own feet, I curl my toe, accidentally etching a deep scrape into my wooden floorboards. Stepping away in terror from that which I cannot escape, I press my back into the wall. Suddenly, I feel something crawling up my shoulder blades, tickling my neck. Jumping away with a shout, I realize that it is only my new long tail. Jet black and sheen like a cat, weaving every which way like it has a mind of its own.

Bringing my hands-- eh-- tentacles to my chest, I try taking a deep breath. But, what has happened to my chest? My rubbery grips find themselves brushing up against a feathery breast. Have I become a bird-octo-saurus-cat? My legs, my arms, my tail, my chest... Oh no. What has become of my face? I run into the bathroom, creating dents in my floor on the way. Coming face to face-- or snout to snout-- with my reflection, I notice my nose had become the trunk of an elephant, and my ears had been replaced with cricket antennae. My eyes had become compound like a fly, and mouth was now that of an anteater. Not to mention that my neck was now covered in fish gills. How shall I expect to work in such an outrageous condition? I guess I should call in. But, first, I must figure how to handle my phone with these hideously awkward arms...

Ciclical circular circles like slides

Cutting the time to seconds

And stacking the seconds in strands

To join the infinite symphony of the expanse of existence and our plans mean nothing to it.

To view it;

Our eyes couldn’t

The air couldn’t

We could not,

given all we have got

do anything but

construe it conceptually.

Our need fed for having details said and the like laid out in tiny tidy packages, like sanwiches we’ve packed for lunch; they’re easier to swallow. We imbibe them; filling in the hollow void of uncertainty with ammunition to make solid our options, foddered opinions, rations of illusions, forcing solutions into definition, solidifying what is into something rational. Moments are within this pre-formed gaseous, morphing state. Chaos enveloping all that we are, but viewing that fact our sight escapes. Fleeting and frittered away, unreal unless applied, there is no tomorrow for, you see; Time is a device. Each second we survive is measured and without that, Our life would be a memory like an amassed conglomerate collectively so cohesive, it would be nearly impossible to convey. The time could not be given to take, or be on, or to delay. This One less thing we would have, to be truly timeless would lose us so much more for sure.

Certainly exponentially, We couldn’t anymore; save a date, or know how long something took or how long we took to wait. We'd not have a minut minute or timing to make songs. We could not even recognize tense perspectively, so essentially that's why for so long it has had to be

Time and Space.

Time×Space =(equals) That clever sectioning of our span of being, numbering our happenings and today is only a day because we say it is, and with that registering so too shall tomorrow never come. It's only ever Now, but right here and now remember this, or take the time to take through time from this convoluted riff;

That each moment is completely what you make it and as we measure lengths I hope you know responsibility falls on you fully. I pray you take it, and face that clock face we've made together and I'll implore that you try a little bit, exude effort that much harder because you and I and all who're alive made the time through measures that we all measure by. So why on earth should we be alive if only to make waste of it? Fuck this craze of "no give a fucks"! If we only live once Then it is legitimate that this time is our only chance to care, or To ever really give a shit.

In the end It boils down to whether

we "lived a little"

or

we "live with it"

...~sigh~...

-my existential two cents.

You gift small pieces of your soul

quite freely ev'ry day,

assuming it creates a hole;

your essence fades away.

An empath's curse is draining, sure,

but magic is at work-

when love's received, and that love's pure,

your heart is fit to burst.

The universe's abacus

will always balance out,

so go ahead- be amorous;

there never was a doubt.