Drawn on the 31st of January, 2025
21:35 pm
For the lot of: a university student living in Melbourne
I see you seek some answers,
sapien?
a little something for your paltry situation?
a tricky one…
let me think…
yes.
yes, i know what i have for you.
come,
come,
come close
it is a strange year, they say
the moon has once again turned its back towards us
as it has always been
an inscrutable thing, it is,
the dark side of the moon…
but let us discuss matters closer to home
on the earthly plane.
let me see your palm.
hmm…
you have a fence, yes?
every house has a fence.
the fates are saying–
erect your fences before the next turn of Saturn
for good fences make good neighbours
and a good boundary is set before it is ever needed.
mend your fences.
secondly, pay no attention to distractions
whether human, goal, or mobile phone.
pay no attention to that unrequited love, one of many, who draws upon your heart's soul strings.
paying attention is just that–paying
a payment made in kind,
a million dollars–and where have you been spending it?
the stars do say
that light of the spectrum blue leads to sleepless nights
and fantasies that bleed into your daylight hours,
rendering your lecturer’s voice unintelligible
And any words or numbers harder to read.
ah, numbers…
yes… for you, nine is a lucky number
But – careful… one only needs five close friends,
chosen wisely.
We fall to the depths of our weakest companion
let the universe grant that you are not that companion amidst your clan
But if it is so in one area,
You will make up for it in another.
there is always the question–
How much is too little?
How much is too much?
It must depend.
that could be said of anything,
really…
But –
It is like a shower, is it not?
On winter days, you need it warmer,
On summer days, cooler.
On one day, what seemed a nice temperature may now feel plunging cold.
And the comfortable choices of another day, may in the next month scald you with burning wrath, like hell’s worst fires– with the burning sting that only regret can bring
but to be sure, there are days, and weeks, and months, and seasons,
years of life going by.
we're trying, becoming
wishing
lusting
But truly living?
which season of your life are you in now?
And the temperature of your bath–
is it to your pleasure,
or was it run from last winter's tap,
carelessly left on?
or filled from habit?
perhaps you no longer know
what a good bath feels like?
or what joy was, in the water
as it sloshed around your toes?