Expressing music through words is technical, jumbled and messy. Expressing art through words is systematic. Expressing, in words, the way someone fights and uses their bodies is wretchedly overt. Expressing feelings is biased. Mechanics of machinery, how a plant looks as it’s growing, the communications of war, or the expansion of space are all so intricate to describe that it makes for only a brilliant manual. Expression in words is impossible. That’s why you must express everything else, everything that’s not there, and everything that makes no sense.
Nude, beautiful females floating through the air, toes pinched, silken ribbons wrapping around their bosoms, hair adrift, their breath all synched as one, as the violins and cellos throb through the cold pulsations around their warm bodies as they dance.
A golden flirtation hinting at painful blues and hopeless yellows warm amongst a cold sky. Topical texture traversing the town. Tiny people unaccustomed to such popularity. Tiny church bells ring through eternity. The world, ever never changing.
Powerhouse of aching muscle, ignored. A leap of faith into an aerial axle until a collision.
Only a gentleman observes the distant gaze of his master as an impassioned solitude.
Pumping steam in hot flashes of light and sweat, an underground of iron, mining and death.
Timid strength, faithful belief and hope are things it knows not; sunlight is good, water glorious.
Speak if you dare.
Touch everything.
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