Justin Stone's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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Location: missouri, el paso

The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

He started going around in a mask but he was not super and he was not evil. He was gray and he was scared. The city was not, nor would it ever be, watching out for itself, but neither could he it. There are no names for the bigger things. The sound of things changing into other things as heard in the well of the body. "Watery you," he liked to say to himself.

As night turned again into morning he took his place upon the skyline. Magic is survival. Survival magic. And unlike everything else in the world magic is quiet.