Whenever I visit my special place and stare upon the stars at night that so deranged depict a face of wonderful wonder. This face makes me a man that believe.
I can see … sometimes.
Patterns that come to mind which projects a reality of redemptive necessity when the need for belief is needing to be seen. Sometimes I need glasses. And sometimes my sight pierce right through.
I can be … sometimes.
Loneliness never lies to the face of the distanced spectator beginning an observation of the human animal and its conduct of behavior. The animal still hiding in the foggy cave.
I can know … sometimes.
Wrecked and wicked believers know when their truthful stun hits them in circumstances that can not be anything else than strange. The description of my special place that lies beyond any border of the hiding human.
I am … always.
The searching man with a valuable possession (and diverse progression) of belief and knowledge of the otherly world where my wonderful stars depict the face of light that takes the trip to visit my eyes. Sometimes its the other way around.
Inside Fantasy 