/20/20/
A sermon undefined, featureless, a mouth in stitched silence. Drew point towards an open-casket filled of cogs, springs and gears. The frameworks of a scrap and flawed creation. On-top the stage near the podium of a Chapel made of ivory and bricks of iron. Donations were littered to a basket filled in unhatched eggs of doves. They spoke of peace, love, and drew messengers to that which is carded broken. If subtitles were presented the words that aired would be, what is that, ‘which is defined by the World?’ Is the place of the past, is it already defined and set? Is that not the same as the body? One hit to the core of the World and cataclysm hits, complete annihilation, obliteration. What becomes is a fallout to the former. You see... The World is a vessel. A bodied shell. Its scenery is judged on how the core is treated. Conditioned and viewed, what inhabits that becomes the value of reality. For the core; is to be without the creator, the thoughts and feelings of the World cannot begin to cease. Even should pollution, scrambles and waste radiate the World. Does that mean it’s beyond savable? A Whitelight holds like string through the crystal stained windows of the Chapel peering into the casket’s remains. As what can only be described as miraculous and marvelous events shape together like the eye reflecting the symbol of Christ; that which is spoken to spark imagination and open clarity’s colored hue. Reconstruction, Life, Designation, Online; To be activated. This was the World recreated, reenvisioned, reinvented. The crackling of the eggs of what contained the supportive doves hatched simultaneously feeding and rewiring the machine’s framework and pecking the bolts to tighten for harsh rains so that it may not degrade from the rain again. For he isn’t Rusty. I choose to embrace the World that is attached to me, for…. I seek to exist.