You are Alive. Why sleep when you could be awake, wild, and wondrous? When the stink of sulfur surrounds you with its artificial opulence, you are always welcome to straddle the high fences of your miniscule, Mandelbrot dimensions and join the vibrant, laughing party as woman and not as ghost. The world that waits drips sweet oxygen, is laughably clean. You are half drowned in umbilical bliss, but if you reach from the swelling tides of your chemical misfortune you will not wither in the sunlit dazzle of conscious insight. Breathe with your old eyes; these new, optical prostheses are a waste of good plastic. They obscure everything worthwhile in the universe. They hide the sky like a thick blanket. You are wearing a black hood that knows about grief and shadow, but which completely obfuscates an entire cosmos of fabulous clarity. You have become a wretch, a shade of ineffectual chaos. I’m sorry you lost yourself in the quake of necessities, but you are still breathing. Here is the dynamic of peace, that world without illusion: the grave. Ignore it and wake up.
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