the horns of the moon point away from the sun, which has not yet risen...until:

i find myself free. free to make the choices that i couldn't make and the choices that i have dreamed of making. i once thought that everything that went through the inner workings of my mind would actually come of age. but as the guard passed me, i found my head in my hands in a cold cell where i've been trapped for the last six and half years. the subconscious is a funny man (or woman, whatever your preferance will be at this moment) who revels in playing nasty tricks on me because there is nothing i can do but pretend to be okay. and last night i dreamed about the horns of the waning crescent moon and what it would be like to spend time on it. my jolly friend christopher (who isn't always so jolly) joined my side and we made our rounds while the cosmos continued to crack. christopher didn't mumble a word until reaching the tip of the crescented moon. he spoke: "tip toe with me now while time twinkles into rhyme wrinkles with beats so low your big toe crinkles tip toe...like so," and walked off the edge of the moon without hesitation (he's been known to do this quite often). i was not surprised nor confused. i was still in my cell, christopher roamed the expanse free. free to make the choices the i couldn't make and the choices that i have dreamed of making. the beautiful bastard. catastasis: christopher (in absentia) will unlock my steel cell as soon as i return (in my conscious) to the catacombs we like to call "canton, michigan."


in the changer: 90 day men "to everybody:"
in my viewfinder: wong kar wai "in the mood for love"