Take care… Take care… Adrien…

One is the tongue, to speak to another,

She has ears for she is also receiver.

Two is the sinew of their embrace,

He improves movement with elegance and grace.

And three’s thought would forever be sought,

With guile like this every war can be fought.

And wars are fought but this is a battle,

Of which the origan is especially fragile…

 

“Hey!... Hey! What the hell mumbo jumbo are you talkin’ about?”

The fat man…

“What the hell is an NSF? Freakin’ lunatic is what you are! Arrrgh screw it, I got customers to serve.”

Were those words garbled by his oppression? What urgency is this, which follows such words? Perhaps it is the cry, a warrant for our hands to hold light. Once again it draws our attention without clarity behind reason. Perhaps this is the answer to that which never had hands of light ensuing. As such trivial knowledge wonders further through the fog, we remain the same, without clue.

Our thoughts fall upon jagged actions of conspicuous men, and burst just as our lips open wide. They usher in the sacred word, an equivalent exchange time grants for our life, that which has transpired without our knowledge. Such a word digs through the toxicity of thought and takes centre stage of our mind.

“…Antibiotic.”

But why?

“Altais! Why don’t you play something that doesn’t suck?”

Their words now replace our own and snare our attention.

“Allow your thoughts to simmer within the thick retainer of your mind. Be settled and allow your pools of vision to receive the actions to come.”

“Ha! He’s that guy people say is crazy. Zion is getting desperate.”

“Your words exchange intent soiled by attempted complex thought. One man is radical, but on the same side of moderation. Our minds do not twist to your idealistic drum, they are the symphony of reason.”

“Whatever. Hey Altais, I think your guitar is broken!”

The air begins to pull our mind to the solid reality of these actions. These are the men to usher the grin of calamity. Our desire was sudden, uninspired yet it must transpire.

“OS, take from this place your presence, time is unforgiving now. We must be absent!”

Indeed time was not generous, even for our words to be exchanged. Altais’s hands were already in the service of great music, its shield and his was always a harsh retort. His hands had spoken; so to did the ground proclaim its solidness through a thud.

“My guitar kicks *CENSORED*, my music kicks *CENSORED*, and what do ya know I must kick a fair bit of *CENSORED* also! Ha ha ha ha!”

The que, his laughs, brought out the disruption’s conspirators, and men began to rise from their perch, drunk on that which is internally served, adrenaline… Silence began to announce the battle, gifted us with harsh images, and gifted us with inspiration, the inspiration for hands to rise and a battle to begin. The lights, the furniture, life itself began to thrive from its need to survive, accepting its presence amongst all other presences, and so it was for every second of this chaos.

Amongst this living, we gazed upon synthesised presence. The nature was broken by a single stare. Our pools of vision rippled and faltered in clarity as a disrupter began his intents advance. His path lay across Arkiya’s, his last step was to enter him into her collision and occupy his senses with her shower of lead flies. This nature was to be put down by its fellow corrupted inmates with their red and blue glaring as if to mock our choices.

Our pools of vision settled and reflected his empty space. Our leash was neither hatred nor fear; it wasn’t the desire of his destruction, but salvation. Why? Why? Why?

“Why? Are we not treading a path of our own inhalation? This is surely contradictory to the trail of our experiences. Why?… Antibiotic…”

“Nathics! Where the hell are you going?”

Arkiya’s words were of right reasons, but nothing is right nor wrong, there is only relevance or irrelevance. These words of hers supported nothingness amongst the tangles of our thoughts.

Amongst these tangles there was one instinct, distilled by what shred of our fibre? It is not why our waltz is prohibited by reason, but why reason was nothingness and instinct misunderstood. Our path was being constructed by our feet, and no baker could ever capture its direction, it was neither natures intent, nor our own.

The hand of chaos was swept from our thoughts. We were unbound by any world… Utter freedom!

“Nothing can stop him now! He is taking control!

“But how?”

“Silence!”

We ascended from the pit of thought and emerged from the clouds of dissolved sweat. Our thoughts began to settle, the dark hand was pried from our pools of vision.

“The light…It’s so bright! Its beautiful!”

The coded farce, from time’s rarely generous hand, had become reality. Our actions were unbound by any concept. Anarchy had succeeded in the purest of conclusions. And behind us the blistering heat of war, a war fought in our services, but unfought within our own mentality. We could not acknowledge our abandoning, the guilt that should have ensued.

And so his stare, his smile was no longer the ward of horror and pain, but the second voice of the past’s screams, screams drowned in nature’s indifference, and cremation of care. His stoic figure was the light that held pillars of our mind, and bound the thoughts that interfered.

“Nathics…”

“Figero…”