Time can skip lighthearted or stretch out rubberbandlike, never quite snapping. Seasons come and seem to have never not been. Life can envelop with tedium or uplift with awe. Subjective perception spins the thread of the tapestry that becomes mothworn and crumbles to cosmic dust. On the same day creation and destruction of worlds. All the events never happen but they happen simultaneously in the skewed catharsis of an eye looking into itself in a vast mirror that entices, promises clarity, yet blurs the closer we approach. A summer mirage in the nuclear winter of embodiment. A heat wave in the bosom of frost.
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