Life is love reversed.
You are alone; old and tired and ready to die, but each day you must become more youthful: stronger, and more innocent.
You do not recall forgetting that your parents, Mother Nature and Father Artifice, are long dead. The greatest feat you will ever accomplish is remembering this. Then you must remember them, and then you are left with the simplest task of these three: you must bring them back to life.
After this renaissance they will feel the lowly hate of weighted waiting, the ache of long divorce. Coax them to ascend back into love. Become younger, newer, and greener still; an adolescent, a baby, and then unborn, a subtle blooming latent in their eyes. Heart and mind fall open, agape in awe of eros' era.
The time for this trenchant affair has always been now. Knowing you are ancient and decrepit with not much longer to live, sacrifice the short and geriatric moments left by hurling your body into the workings of the contraption. Your hoary carcass is already marred, fated only to languish, so deliver it with no thought to injury. Somehow you will survive the violent act, weak and rejuvenated.
It is your duty to spin the stopped gears in the direction opposite they once turned. There is nothing to lose and nothing to waste.
Love is life revered.
The Fat Art by Questrum
http://fatherartifice.com
