illusions

The lives of everyone else we know are just illusion. An individual point of view is a singularity, a destination unachievable for any other life, an imagined position. What is hellfire and brimstone for one, is another's 150k btu gas BBQ, and a reckless drunken rampage in a stolen Abrams battle tank through suburbia for one is two lumps of sugar in a cup of tea for another. Could Pavarotti do death metal grunting on his deathbed? Could Idi Amen have been retrained as a social worker? It is a truism that any make or model of car will look the same colour after six and a half years of partial burial in a lava flow. Maybe even a Delorean. Get back.
The color of square A is the same colour as square B. Truly.

The hands of a clock never stop moving. The battery or the winding key enable us to see where the hands should be, but without these and without sight, the hands continue to spin. Faster and faster, it's all about catch up. The universe spins about the sidereal rose red apple held firmly in the hands of the small child solid in it's world of smocked collars and yellow dogs named spot. The beach is too cold unless you are inside that BBQ.