[Response to: Sometimes I wish for Steve]
One could not wish for Steve, you must dream of Steve. For Steve is not a person, he is the on going ever all stuck in the ass prison, the hexagon bars of time. Steve in the summer was a free wheeling bird, and as bird his wings were extensions of his horned rim hair brush that held the powers of Old Crow kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, the most affordable for one of Steve’s nature.
Steve ventured on a beach, but since everything for him was the opposite, as it is for us, all he saw was snow and frozen water, and lobsters with wings, and birds with gills, and time moving ever so slowly. slow, slow slowed down, like cheetah in his world. He had never seen one but had often grown fond of them from watching animal planet videos on his IPad2, which was essentially the bong of knowledge that he carried around with him.
Steve saw everything in deep hypnotic waves. Colors that gyrated towards him from the frozen ocean. glowing spirals constantly washing over him. He dreamed of expression, and wondered if there was a creature that could guide him on his journey. One to be reborn, in a world where the beach was a significant possibility to him. Did steve imagine the creature, or was it the creatures job to come find him?