I truly believe the renaissance of me was much more interesting than the renaissance of you.
Like watching a chandelier break through glass-lined terrariums filled with Shanghainese flamingos.
I hope you understand I feel this gravity stronger than you do.
I hope you understand that the gravity of my words are present to create an impact explosion onto your facade which lays as transparent as the flesh of jellyfish.
I aim to be like a meteorite destined exclusively for Spotted Blue Stingrays.
1966 Stingrays. 1996 Bulls. 1942 Bears. 2016 Cubs.
I want to you know that tomorrow’s safari is only for myself and those I admit.
For it is me who deems it appropriate for whom the antelope may gaze upon.
And which meerkats may mirror the fear I impose.
And I have so many questions of this world?
Questions which only I must answer.
For the questions I have are ones your simple mind could not grasp…
Do monkeys dance?
Do orangutans really enjoy Tang™?
Do bonobos like to entertain?
And I’m longing for the distance from this world.
Or perhaps I’m longing from the thinking that this thing you call distance isn’t really distance at all.
Its a charade.
A symposium of falsities indexed and over-calculated.
Tang™ Tang™ Ta Tang™ Tang™ Tang™…