Sage inspired dreams: 7 August 2012

It brings me back to the spontaneous wild fire eroding all fixtures in its path, devouring the fear and posessions of onlookers.

The ocean glanced over in a bout of melancholia as it had no worth in this moment of destruction.

The clouds stared down in an arrogant manner whilst stubbornly moving away as to turn it`s head from the woman begging with her broken baby.

There is a turning point in which each human is stripped of the luxury of having an individual consciousness, a soul or ludicrous vital spirits.

This turning point is the remnants of a beautiful circle, now a vile sphere constantly twirling whilst not making any progress.

Turned into an objective peepshow we fall into categories such as Western, Islam, Student, ill, women, homosexual, patrons, criminals.

Our consciousness becomes separated from our being.

My being is emptied and tattered by seeping holes for classifications to come and visit me whilst everyone is looking.

Instructed I fill the gaps, I colour in the blanks left by whiteness and early twenties.

Home is not a space, a permanent structure of thresholds and symbols of ritualistic habits and relationships.

Home is infinite, moulded by a stream of consciousness and a whimsical rendezvous of emotions.