I used to live
for my mortal fame
and perhaps a joy
in the sheer delight
of being

but something snapped
and i'm not the same
years have passed
with modest gain

the era of my fame has died
but i still have strength
I can supply.

i would if i can
bend my will
to take away your pain.

it's the only thing
to keep me sane.

I have a kinship with ghosts,
Sailing with echoes.
enthralled by permanence
And slow demise,
The illusions
Of paradise.

But Life was given me
Through livened eyes,

I would have wandered,
Through spiral stairs of stone,
Would my soul have a awoken?
Or would I have wondered, alone?

What is their else,
Than the look in the eyes,
Of another cosmic being,
Of this very cosmos, seeing

i will not die
this day, nor on
t'morrow.

i will watch the others journey first;
pray let them lose their way in a velvet bed,
i'd not have them die of thirst.

comfort and arm chairs for the mind
hold scant dominion over hunger.

the necessary shelter,
built even before it was begun,
and that place with the fruits that keep us alive.
they will occupy our minds
like a fire

But what when we are fed?
No more belly choice,
just head.

So philosophy is born.

That fire now is just a little candle,
scarce seen against the projections
in stream from screen after screen.

Different lights
warm and cold.
careful which you choose to hold.

i can't really tell you where to go,
don't know the seeds to sow

but even when you’re filled, know this
hunger is there; it still exists

so bring some new order to bear
against nature, or yourself

or don’t

but if you want things to be at all different from what they are,
you need to light a dream
that burns in your mind
as bright as hunger.

build a shelter in your own head.

many hands
keep us alive
lifting soil
so we might rise

Replicatons
writing the manual on ourselves
the books are learning to build the shelves

Wheresoever intelligence arises,
therein will be enough intricacy and stability to
keep it well occupied,
as a necessary prerequisite for the intelligence.

Do we look at ourselves?

many hands keep us alive,
living from chemical happenstance,
and now a seeming cultural will.

atoms
organised
when did we open our eyes?

The cows are milked,
and now I search for truth.
I wonder if it's living,
or trampled under hoof.

I stopped running before the end
took a shower and put myself in a soft arm chair
Now they’re saying I have to start again
But my stiff legs remember the pain
and can only move me like a door on creaky hinges
I cannot imagine the speed I once obtained
and to me the distance now looks infinite
almost too big for my soul