the son of bob by: orange
I am a luftmensch progeny, with riches no mortal can steal from me. Contemplation of existence has declassified reality, and nimble thoughts enable avoidance of gravity, that crushes others into lives of square conformity, while my mind climbs through the corydali realms of eternity. Home to Angels, Demons, Spirits and a choir singing "Holy Holy". Where the currency is wisdom and the closest thing to poverty is the student whose mind has yet to wrap itself into infinity, see, the contrast against our material infirmity is crushing when the baseline is Gucci, bling, sub-prime mortgages, and mini-bars raided during extramarital flings, versus universal direction and lessons so pure they are beyond chlorhexidine clean. That’s why so much effort is put into making us pay attention to, anything that will distract us from what is true, that being the real you that's buried under layers of grief, greed, and an identity built to fit in with those you value. All of it temporary, most of it sedentary, but with an open mind it all becomes elementary, and avenues of higher learning can get us out of the torturing. We just have to get up when our alarms start ringing. Hard to do though when the bed we made is so warm and comforting, but when you finally get tired of sleeping through suffering, and want to know why everything amounts to nothing, just get up and answer the door that's been knocking, to join the rest of the class, because on you they are waiting.
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