Cozmo Beregofsky

Force of Nature

Every thing is going to die. And every thought is going to die. And the most will be made of this moment, and this moment alone, for this moment is all there is, and ever will be. It’s a party.

 

Every word that I speak is music, seven days of any week. And it’s true - every single move that I make is dance, and the performance is vast in the life that we take for granted. But I can’t without the rain clouds moving across blue skies many times. They’re fortunate enough to float way above the planet and be witness to the grandest unity, and the perfection of the way it is. Perception is amazing; it’s the most that it can be because it’s all laid out how it’s meant to be. Destiny is eventually the fall of moisture under gravity, acting so casually to balance the whereabouts of objects, trees, humans alike. It will deny if we decide that we wanna be able to fly. It’ll simply do what it always did and always will: apply a gentle pressure of guidance, allow elevation as long as there is compliance with the laws of aerodynamics - above the level that you saw cops defending. Gravity’s a force of nature affecting any poor sod who doesn’t know how to fly.

 

Every word I speak is music, and every pen movement on paper is included in the performance (that is really quite enormous) of this life time. Writing rhymes is what I choose to use to define my professional status. Animate this pen. Everybody’s gotta eat or die sooner. Death looms up above us either way - 5th of May to the 4th day of May in the next year.

 

Forces of nature.

 

Cozmo Beregofsky