The goal is a hundred, but I want less.
Less of what others desire, and more of what I require.
One percent of the human condition that only the rare, wounded and gifted experience;
and even for them – only in the safety of their dreams.
A crude and fantastic earthly existence,
where flesh is indistinguishable from energy and thought; yours and mine.
The final mile of space and existence;
void of time and other un-worldly expectations set upon us by the other ninety-nine percent.
I want the one percent I’m never supposed to know,
let alone ask for or dare have.
I desire one percent of the time,
impossible, all the time.
A life of my choosing and manifestation,
where I lead with my heart and breathe slowly within storms and battles so fierce,
civilizations would cease to exist when they finally come to rest.
And yet,
here I remain.
More glorious than ever,
amidst all the devastation that befalls me.
For those that desire the same,
I invite you to my fire of illusion.
My one percent.