Evol. A sharp blade that cuts through heaven. Hits you hard on the face. A concrete wall to cling on, to climb with only the aid of your nails. The scratching hurts, it deafens maybe. Once on magic mountain you will though smile. Don't look back, laugh, and stay. It all goes around and comes around. A table cloth abruptly pulled away, china plates shatter into bits, as does glass and all the rest when it is thrown into the air becoming soon-forgotten particles that confuse amidst rotting garbage. All that remains on the empty table is a lonely white rose. That is evol. Who you are, is written on its petals, is spoken within its thorns. It is there that it all begins and will end, over and over again in a carousel. Along its stem you may find your way home or forever may get lost. Like blood that knows its way back and forth, from the brain to the heart, then one day, exhausted, the pulsation terminates. Blue and black, rain and louds. You can run, but cannot hide.