Failing Brain Recesses

Enter an Ouroboros, tailing your demise as it caves and consumes the innards of intuition, leaving behind a trail of impecuniosity and coffee stained mugs. White stains pervade the neon lights that flare and fade within the mind incessantly, like the curls left behind in another memoir, recollected nightly.

To sit and waste to the sonorous wail of a guitar during the Flower Show Riots writes the zeitgeist like an artist with the air as his canvas, flowing as zephyrs do to the whims of the dramatis personae; movements that reflect Failing Brain Recesses. Onward we struggle to make the ends of the day meet, for darkness to touch darkness, and creep out into the celebrations of annual age-growing. Or watching as capitalist activities woo masses into a trance, with Oranje suffering the defeat of pale.

A night of splendor and solace crushed by the solitude of a dream and the cold winds of reality, mixed with the wafting scent of chemicals in an acid rain. Words emerge in the Dance of Feet, nets ringing with the dual sound of victory and defeat epitomised by the beads of sweat dripping to the floor.

What does the week hold in store, until we return to another epoch of occupation?