Superstitions thrive in the late night hours. Omens can appear at any time. Long before man could read or write he strove to learn the language of nature…to perceive her inscrutable pages. Now reduced to another twist in our Deeply Neurotic Aura. Primal. Instinctual. That section of brain awoken by fear.
Needless to say, I live in the spirit of signs and delusions…semiotic allusions. Paranoid schizophrenia. I’ll bet that some of you, are paranoid too. Standing on a cliff. The rest too sedated to notice. Analogies and metaphors screaming for a name.
Is nature an extensions of our minds? or are our minds an appendage of nature? Do they share whispered secrets across wide open spaces? Or has she long since fled from our sights; leaving us in a silence so desolate, so absolute, there’s no choice but to pit our own shadows up against a blackness too dark to identify them as what they are. Our selves. Our lies and our own mythical faeries and slavering devils.
I don’t know. And I can’t recall my original point.
But the deer would sooner trample me than lead me to any new adventure.