So i saw the ugly side. Pumped up with facts figures and memories of a time when they had hair and hope. How different now. Or maybe it is that it is not different at all, and that is the problem. Projecting their interests on another who is not caught up in the fantasy. I saw the ugly side. Didn't like it. Not one bit. Leaving a great experience and ripping it apart.
Asks the question why, why you like it? Do you distance yourself from it? In an effort to stay clean or is it actually a mirror on you, future. Ultimately you wouldn't be asking the question if it was the problem. But you fell into it none the less for that amount of time. A quick escape, excuses made. And between white sheets the comfort predicted was delivered on. Too short. Back into the mindless bustle to face the days movement.
There is no space to exist over there. No room to breath. To flow. The get by is restricted by others with either the same intentions or none at all. Mindless waddling. Have they no goal or time to do it in? Just take everyone and put them on colliding paths. And if possible intercept anyone who is going faster than you. Slow it all down.
Different mentality. Different pace.
Locked in a tin can above the great white travelling through the sky hole. She asked me to move. "Would you mind?" She said. "Of course not, it's grand" I respond. And now i have a lens on the Earth. Everything is flat from up here. We get perspective but the depth is sacrificed to the Gods. Lines reveal the natural flow of things. The waterways. Where the rain wants to go. Where it comes together. Where it gets destroyed. Old markings and divisions. Erased to the level eye by infinitely more divisions and additions. Ever changing around us. And yet we only ever move past when above. Too fast to register. To high to care. Surrounded by distraction. By the hum of a rolls royce engine. By the human noises. Those that go at their own pace regardless of anything in their way. Distractions.
And then it is back to earth. Tin can stations suck us in.
The planet is scarred by us. We have taken a knife to its natural beauty and done something from magnificent to mad. What is it now. What percentage of what we see is pure, untouched. There is a human mask on this world. Destructive.