it was the last day and he found himself at the top of the world. he looked into the distance, saw the city below and trembled. then the angel whispered encouragingly to his ear, "why fall if you can fly?"
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things happen up in the tree.
strange imaginings, that's what they all are. thoughts of a lunatic, half afloat, half asleep. think of them as stories, take them for real, it doesn't matter. what's the difference anyway? will they provoke thoughts as insane, as far-fetched--as true to what one engages with in the everyday? who knows, maybe i'm not as crazy as i think, afterall.
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