she pours daydream in a cup
One cup of daydream with a shot of idealism and rose-tinted icing.
Somewhere, in the world wide web, I've read that you only truly grow old when you stop dreaming.
The world doesn't need skin renewal creams, hair dyes, or botox, nor does immortality depend on decoding the secrets of DNA.
Human beings are on a fruitless physical search for the Holy Grail, which only draws us further away from metaphysical enlightenment.
We are already born with ambrosia in our veins, as children, oh so long ago. Have you forgotten already?
We were once invincible, intolerable of the world and its sufferings, the Holy Grail in our grasp at one's whim. We were once power rangers and pokemon trainers, spiderman, superman, heroes and kings, brewers of the elixir of life, those who feasted by the fountain of youth with Silenus and Bacchus with grapes of ruby blood.
I believe the true purpose of creation is in the expression of freedom. Every single thing created in the world, whether it be horrible pop songs or kitsch art work, is a representation of the liberation of the souls of human beings (maybe I'm giving mainstream mass pop culture a little too much credit). Things are created out of joy, desire, liberation, rebellion.
True beauty in creation is freedom. Everything contributes to the immortalisation of zeitgeist, and that is what is meant by living forever.
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