i fell up, burning all my options until nothing was left, but that's an option itself, a trick option, just like no belief is really a belief, so i accepted my fate, all eight of them, i played my cards, the deadmans hand, i ate my surreal breakfast of spinach and rose petal with coffee made by a genius film director who was channeling bergman and a germanic expression, i felt the hand of fate, i was offered asparugus that was grown by whispering positive affirmation, it was cooked by love itself and it's energy absorbed in gratitude. i sat at davids last supper and saw his spirit there, the beauty and the beast, contrastingly a dark man on the inside,i related to his lure, the nostalgia felt real. there was love there, a very special thing, it was real. there was love there, it was good, it heals us all. and i saw his majesty and it was divine, it was uncompromisingly regal and i realised i would follow that glory to my last breath.
i watched open eyed at the magic theatre, and the first and last performance had begun, i listened to the nuance, swayed by the king and his magickal cat who was unique and from one of my favourite unread books, a story about a magickian who muddled his spells and was very absent minded but his cat was switched on and travelled through all dimensions and always made everything right. it had a happy ending and there was queen, from love street, she had wisdom and knows what to do...   and the foundation was solid and real and like, a cathedral.