Oftentimes passion
Is what gives weight to empty
Then you may feel full

The sun burns and so do I
What use in complaining is there?
Leaves turn to dust
Stone will become mud
And all
things must
eventually
end.

His feet stir with longing
Baggage barely clinging to his fingertips
He escapes the outbound missile
Crosses the platform as if it was an existential crisis
And catches the wind
To blow him home
Away from the way he resides

Signage won't matter
Nor the road paint that you lay
Love is not one way

I am appreciating this process, and awareness

a feeling without definition

a knowing that cant be expressed

Pieces of oneness?
Apart is what we make it
Glue is what divides

As sunbeams trickle
So too do the moments here
Spent in my suchness

Prove, prove, prove
think, think think a little think at

thought speed.
Build me a death star, you shall not surely die.

Ah, hero, take your role. This is your page, this age
of informing
of outsides
of mobiusish objects we make

using imaginary morsels of
stuff,
the substance of things
hoped for.
Science of space and times remembered,

Hopf-phor uni-ometry in our augmented mind,
forming forms, take shape,

form in the image of "the cloud"

where lay the
base of con
science
con
carne values.

Meatmind, the brain-gut-outer-inner portal
from which flow
empty thoughts from

the pineal core click sig

drawing measurable infospheres
from at-most-fears,
using big ears
as a bit of an esteem antenna on boys who
saw themselves as goofy a rascal as Alfalfa

and Alfred. E. and Barrack, the drone thrower
of the twenty-first century, one of the
last to unbelieve the reasonable
lie behind war,
per se. Disperse the leaven, dust in the wind,

Alls we are, all ye, all ye, ours in free flow

fractal feeder of new knowables as we ever learn

time as a tool empowers our progress to next, that's all.

Remember con
sistency, sub
sistency, in
sistancy, resist the urge to wield words worn smooth

reflecting any context, as if it were
known,
now, the meaning in the word. I say pray, you say "Our Father"

I say ask, you say what. I say, For the answers you hope to have

being as you are. On  Point. I made a point.
Or arrived at this point.
con
science,
with knowing,
the tree of knowledge is at least as fractal as an oak.

Inside out being in the jello universe of knowns,
good and not, all jigglin' in time,
sort it out.

Start where your treasure is. Nullify the evil clinging to
your horde 'pon which ye sit,
sweep the ashes from the last burnt bridge
over this edge, to the flow below.

You sweep slow in jello, but sweep into d'flow
is what is done wit ashes here.

Pile some stone here. Then give 'em all yo bitchinmoans,

for the peace their balancing at your finger tips
gives you, in real life,

take it. Now, go be.

Despite your thinking
Uncalculated life is
What you've always done