The Madman - Drops of Blue Lava

Hello all,

Welcome to another season of the Madman. Today, our journey begins with grey disc-like objects till legs of stone make the disappearance of known objects possible. After removal of said objects, a mandatory tour of the greenish-purple white streets leads to nirvana. Rotating red roses remind me of the Iris, with it's purple-yellow loveliness, and of all that withered away with it. The blue moon is all I have left. That and a little bit of the stationary surrealism.

Voices call from the digital TV wall, rampaging through those selfsame rotating roses (yes, the very ones we heard from a moment ago). As night falls, the red turns to a gradual black, before the difference in color never existed. Fog, ice and iris (repeating themes is not my style!), all gone. But she was here a moment ago! Perhaps thrown to the trash in a bottle of water, as a memory of losing one's reflection.

Several points of a star all lead to infinity. As the infinity of the galaxy streams past, and the stars, all looked upon as being far away for far too long, are like little white specks of salt, the scientist tries to work around the number of commas in this sentence. He then flees back to the beginning of time and wishes to recreate it all. With a few, small, differences of course. As his attempts to return get progressively more petulant, his anger rises and he storms away, alone. Not the best combination, mind.

The painted green landscape of the still (really?) seas of the mind is obviously fake. Reality lies in a far deeper section, the one where drops of molten redness coalesce to form the core. The discoverer races down in a small ship of a single stalactite, but he must first get past the jagged blue spikes. As he successfully races away after sampling real loveliness, he cannot help but look back and wish things were otherwise. He tries to flit back, but the spikes are now closed to him once and for all. Perhaps, if the core were to show herself..

Cold and grey steel lurks on my bedspread, the kind spirits and mortals alike fear (burns one, cuts/bludgeons/slashes/smashes other). As the remorseless winds flow over the still, black waters of her, my look loses its once-fabled power. The Turn, which has occurred for possibly the last time, destroys and relieves at the same time. Yet a deeper fear is the return of the Gaze.. beauty and terror in one small package.

I do not like this imagery, and shall desist from writing more. I would bother mentioning that there are references in this one too, but with how interested You were in the first set, there seems to be a lack of point in doing so.

I love you too. Always.

PS: Around the bend, but make sure it's still a turn You can take.

Whoamg another new one.

I can't believe it!

Randomness + alliteration.

The trick to triumph is to try.

Limbo loves latent lavish lamentations.

The red rat's royal rotund rump reeks

Compartments kept concealed kill commonplace krill.

Sunshine sounds seem so surreal; the theater of trouble tells tall tales of ticking timebombs

Matches made in the mind must melt. Meld?

Opportunities of opulence = Opacity.

Associations abound above

The gaze still makes me shudder.

The Madman

Hello,

I'm back! Maybe.

This here is my first attempt at free association writing.

Begin -

Now! Go. 1, 2, 3. Keys of lime in the pie are perfect when Samson lost his hair and the locks that dread lord warcraft flying purple pigs and a pink pantaloon. Oh wait flamingos can fly too. The world in a baked form is the creep bunny of goose. Melancholy is the dirt drifter who drifts behind Jumper's Carrera while blowing horns with the bulls of yesteryear.

The ups and downs of a sine wave are like rolling hills or perhaps the setting in the treadmill was wrong. Running as free and fly as a wild bird in Montana would be the happy way to go. Even if I crash my own plane. This back of mine in large rolling giants with eyes made of cheese and the game never ends because the mouse always loses.

Peter and Valentine might never understand the value of having a brother. Perhaps they do. The lake is like a swarm of hyperspace where time loops into itself and the water moves like a surreal leaflet with words written on each drop. The many moods of man can maim the soul and then make it whole.

The wind from the sun blows my sails adrift while Arachnae watches from her slumber, waiting to pounce. Then I look upon her face and turn away. Which is harder? The look or the turn? Perhaps the lemon and the orange could grow on the same tree. Or perhaps, it was never meant to be.

I am alive. Life, the essence of humanity, drifts through the storms of white and the clouds of grey. As the blizzard envelops the land of elves, so turns a man in confusion with no knowledge of where to look. The gaze is as devastating as the turn, and he will lose either way. Then why, pray, does he try?

PS: References abound in the lines of madness written above. Discover them, if you can.

Snap! Thus returns the real world with its happiness and pain, joy and suffering. Here we must exist.

Disclaimer: This was written in exactly 10 minutes. I love you too.