The naked unicyclist of fate is travelling from door to door of your hopes and memories, soliciting funds to finance the building of a sculpture representing all your failed dreams of a better life than this.
Meanwhile the small furry rodents of time are deserting all the sinking ships that were to take you across the seas of years into a future land you will now never see. Never will you even once feel the sands of its beaches under your bare feet.
Still, though, the mornings appear one after the other like the final demands for a life you never got around to using, leaving it with its windows curtained and its doors shut and bolted with all the future possibilities left piled under dust covers that you know you will never dare to lift again.
On the other hand, though, there are thousands upon thousands of web pages out there just waiting for you to alight upon them, so… what the hell, eh?
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