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I. Prologue
I keep laughing; once again on the roof of the mushroom where unbearable heat withers all colour. The cemetery snow lies unwalked upon, all though many ghosts have yet to pass. Where silence was before, now, there is nothing; without noise, I am scared for I can’t find myself. The images are broken where survivors should be. Pieces lay scattered in dust. II. Cold River Dead Drowned; the stream of thought runs without motion into what was once named peace. Only now it is blurry and messy such that I can feel no more; this page is blank. I didn’t call for you, still you betrayed me. I foresaw that you should die in the Rapid River, smashed against the rocks, like that photograph of you. Can you still see it? For all the words you strived to find have long been lost in that moment; lamentation is no tool in the killer’s hands. Only now I begin to see that which was so clear. Can I take it back? Can I take you back to that moment? The king of mediocrity killing his only muse. Ruins of suicide poets guard the River and all is cursed, and this, in turn, is cursed as well. The time is near when the return to the fires will come and then… the dead muse will give birth one last time. III. Furnace Reborn Birth, as Death, holds a terrifying vengeance. No crude cuts, no tests, no mockery fittings, …, only the first try out, the most vindictive of all. For there is no coming back from this; no future self induced delusions. As Furnace is reborn in the hills, the mountains, in sacred concrete, Hope & Grief cease to hold any meaning. There is no end, there was no beginning, and Furnace never died, yet, …, He is reborn. And I am Furnace, and all of you domesticated modern-day barbarians are Him as well, for He never died… He never died! IIII. Epilogue The Holy Duality, always in perfect balance. The dispute of the Empty over Nothing. For I hear not the music but the sound, decomposed and barren, as from the beginning it was meant. Alone in Perfect Space, perfect void of Duality. Not knowing, not searching, nor winning or loosing; still, forever lost. Contamination is a metaphor for Birth. An universe away from thee; Seek not and not find. * Write, with an empty mark. Know, with an empty mind. See, with an empty soul. * And where there was a River Cold and where there is a Reborn Furnace the Duality of Holy and of perfect form always shall begin as always shall end, in the never-ending, never-begun cycle of the meta-form. Be it Heaven, or be it Underground, is still a long way away from Perfect Space.
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