all that's going on, all that goes on.
reminders of a past forgotten with the passage of time, a past that might still exist deep beneath the caverns where lurk shadows darker than night itself, where one shouldn’t roam unless one really, really wants to, or if one has been prescribed by the apothecary.
all that's going on, all that goes on - and all that was.
all that was, in a distant land where the soil is not the same as ours, where the wind blows differently than ours, carrying with it messages, talks, ideas, thoughts, which can’t be hidden, can’t be controlled - only propagated, the omnipresent, all consuming barrage of thoughts to rein upon someone like an array of needles fired with a fury of missles.
all that's going on, all that goes on, all that was - and how they're connected.
pages and pages and pages, words spanning pages and running wild in books of varying lengths (in terms of the quantity of pages and the stories they tell) drawing unlikely, unconvincing parallels that one might stumble upon and scoff at, and deem unnecessary like a figment of one's unholy imagination, "how can someone think like this? this doesn't happen in real life!"
but what are stories to real life if not inspirations and correlations drawn, in the hopes of providing forth a depiction of a larger (or smaller, depending on the writer) view of the world and the things that go on in it, if not yet another parallel that is as consuming as the story, as the world, as life.
words in stories tell more about what goes on in the world than news, media, or any other medium of information propagation does. conviction of the one doing the telling is all it comes down to, at the end. and that is all that matters.
all that's going on, all that goes on, and all that was - i've seen it all before. it just wasn't on this planet.
