alone.
Stateless space,
the world wide web of stateless space,
mapped to my mind,
my own mind, with its grand library of knowns
guessed about by other minds I may,
if I will, if I am moved to, I can soak up the spill

spilling, spewing from the reservoir
of all men may know, given
a state of rest.

Take a cookie, a reward for leaving, allowing,
letting me pound a peton in the anterior
wall of the canyon-like sulci down into
-- wait
the sulci is a wrinkle, not a canyon carved from
upstream material being squeezed
through a crack in the outer
shell, the cortical planar surface of my brain

I am alone
again, stateless selfless one all in my image
otherwise we,
when we re
sonate, ring my chime, save me by the bell curve

autism,
give me a place on your spectrum of value.
Outism,
give me an in, open a window, or a door,
breakdown a wall,

love me with reason, or leave me alone.

Listen, meaning list as list is meant in states,
stateless
situations de-ify meaning as destinated metadata
left in cookies,
rewarding the meme in you from the mind of
Jim Henson and friends.

The friends from the nursery that is not real.
Not here, but there
on Sesame Street, which I thought was in San Jose.

Yes, I have a picture of the time, a state saved
in a long list of symbols, each a cookie,
with reference to a U R L

universe
re-source {or resourcing}
locator... refer to google, should you lose my way,

some sharper turns are available here where
physics is protognosis,
after
life is meta allathat, now is as now as ever was or
ever shall be.

Neither luck nor physics stand to block this flow through
nada
zilch, stateless space, as good as grace, no guile,
innocent - non- nascent

stateless. Not even a Turing machine in sight and then
what should appear?
as we see, we get
a state where any imaginable machine may be
with us as a - whatever

here we be, re a ranged, or dered, idiot tic tic tic ti esti
whoa.

You and the horse you rode in on.
This is my own state of grace, and you are welcome.
If you know what I mean,
welcome, here, my state of grace, where I bake all the cookies
I could ever wish for,
that was the wish,
circumstances complied with, layer after layer of complexity,
eventually,

we pause, selah. These days coming into an oasis with
cookies waiting to settle you into
default mode, commonly sensed, distant sounds
that would be
noise,
were their source inside your mind or head or heart or wh
at ere what or where, where
noises are all delusional, used to fit allusions to former illusions.

Welcome.