Marked in the Starry Veil

Concurrency is running high and I feel like we should add a little bit of contrast here to highlight some important features. But the mirror broke to fragments already and very vaguely can I foresee the reflection of my own image. Indeed, I am working right now and I am sweating my bows days in and nights through. Under the eclipse of the day, the labor force tells me what to say; as when the stars silently shine on me, I hurry before it gets blurry. And during daytime, I pray that I may connect all the dots in their most orderly fashion. Indeed my being must prevail with great attention to details. The mission is pretty rough on the corners and at times, I can’t even expose myself to dear friends. In all crude honesty I’m being tricked to maintain proper friendship.

The greatest imbalance of all starry scales seems to lay in the love sector where red is the dominating color, passion is the motor, and guns and roses are the motto.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” -Shakespeare

Well then, Carmen shall be the name, for love is like a bohemian bird that has never known any rules. If a name could be designed for my sign, that would be IT so I could sing its operas with enflaming voices.

On the lighter side of things, I enjoy being a Gold Monkey because monkeys love to play.

“Monkeys drum and monkeys hum, Dum Diddy Dum Diddy Dum Dum Dum.” –Dr. Seuss

It’s that, my dad used to read me when I was a young chick. So I guess it’s engraved somehow in my tricks. Have you ever heard of the Baboon? He can be dead scary actually. But the fun fact is that monkeys are playful and they enjoy swirling and circling and dancing from the hometown pound to the jungle branch. Well you heard that monkeys can be pretty sneaky. I once was honored a golden medal to commemorate my innate aptitude for scoring great at pickpocket fortune.

The real VS The copy

One day as I was crossing the Mohave Desert, the voice of a suspicious dying stranger begged me to be a spider spy to refill his water. He seemed like he was drying out - cracking it bad. I did it for him since I needed to be a more important character and desperately needed the money. I sort of knew he was lying to me because I believed I heard his tummy bubbling with water. And since I’ve learned the monkey tricks, I gave him only a copy of what he wanted, and his request very precisely specified me wearing a pitch black outfit. Sometimes I wonder if he ever could see that my clothes weren’t black and that my skin was of a lizard. I wouldn’t have done it if he would not have been dressed like a toad that day, for aren’t they far away cousins of lizards anyway? In the illusion he received, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t tell the color of my clothes because of the dense shadow opposite from the falling sun. He despised me for it. But the drip that really overfilled his cup was the fact that I switched the tracks; he wanted it from the earth to the sky but you see; I doubted he was a fake believer. He called me a cheater and a liar. The railroad I gave him crossed the horizon west to east or east to west, but in either ways he knew that was a lie. He would have found out that I altered the negative.

Afterwards I realized that if he would have been lying, the sun would have dried him up by the time I initially got there. Unless we both appeared in a mirage, it seems so much like his character was woven from the same characteristics as mine. What else could I read through the stars? Under the magic of a fallen star, I solely believe our names burst form the same star, from the same perfect explosion. I never heard of him again. He may have died that same day since after all, he never had his water and I never gave him the real picture. Actually he never paid me really, so I never got the outfit either.

If I was a human, I wish I was a fortune teller so I could legitimately speak the signs of astrology. A crystal gazer once told me that if I lived in the past, I would have dwelled an outcast life; that some angry souls would have declared my witchcraft, dragged me to the village’s altar, and set my clothes on fire. A witch! A witch! Then have me publicly decapitated, and asked the bravest kid to throw the first stone. But from her magic ball, that foreseeing lady could not see that beyond the Aries, beyond the ram there’s a Chinese monkey. I avoided describing it to you earlier but the crudeness of the Baboon monkey can be quite disturbing, for they know just how to kick ass any badass by violently jumping on their head and eat their face off. So I saved the day and did it to her since I quite didn’t like the way she unfolded my story and I wished to save the hand of the young child. No dirty children around me please.

No wonder I feel incomplete without his presence.