an apple a day

The journey was a ritual and the ritual was the journey.

Catching god in my fish net stockings. Scaled the ceiling. Baked the bread. God is a sober dj and a white beard left over from christmas. Grind our asses until we the surface is broken and the light shows through the cracks.

We vision together. See in 3D glasses, illuminations of green and red. Stop-go complexes melt like chocolate and get smeared on my face. Amidst the illusion of reality tv show carnivals I brushed the dirt off my ego. It came up a shining thing in the dawn. Tierd feet scrubbed in the bath.

This is redemption in a floral two peice. There is clarity amoungst hallucination. Communion made us mortals and we placed our faith in the hands of the Gods. When the sediment settled we were perfect creations because of our sins.