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Engineering to the Bridge:

"Time passed, but without us. A bit like Kepler's third, I suppose."

Express your "law" another way. Throw rocks at the moon. Stone the satellite because of your own despicable sins.

I see demise in your face. There's something strange about the through lines of your crew, the yellow journalism of their spacewalk.

Posters of the wild frontier, staggered and torn, said nothing will go wrong. That sometimes death is merely the devil changing colors.

"I think not, Captain. You laugh when you should cry. You tear to pieces the pictures of the overtaken. You run from the lie detectors. Otherwise, your narrative falls apart and all you're left with is your withered mind funneling down a ****** abyss..."
she fits perfectly
against my stomach.

the lamb and the light
of all we could become,
gentle spirit of the everlasting moment.

the heaven when all,
all we want is all,
we have.
 2m Jill
Flower
Eyes
 2m Jill
Flower
I wonder if you noticed
How last night
I sang the lyrics of every song to you
But could barely meet your eyes
 7m Jill
RED
Why?
 7m Jill
RED
I was raised as a mother,
Never as the daughter.
A burden they carried,
Never the healer.

I was the giver,
Never the receiver—
And for one single mistake,
I became the villain.
 3d Jill
Flower
I love her poems
More than anything

They made me cry
But I smiled the whole time

Because she loves me
And I love her

Maybe a little differently
But I still love her
 3d Jill
badwords
We were told freedom would make us artists.
We were told freedom would set us free.
But freedom made us consumers—
scrolling, streaming, drowning in plenty.

Peak content.
Peak noise.
Attention—the last currency.
And we are broke.

Then came the machine.
Infinite. Bespoke. Frictionless.
The tribe dissolved.
The story fractured.
Each of us—
a society of one.

Do not mistake this for culture.
Culture bleeds.
Culture resists.
Culture divides.
This is mimicry.
This is slop.
Outliers cribbed, stripped,
and rebranded before the ink dries.

This is the singularity.
Not awakening.
Collapse.
Not tribe.
Not ritual.
The machine as tribe.
Self-satisfaction—tribe enough.

But listen—
creativity still breathes.
Not to be seen.
Not to trend.
But to testify.
To mark the ruins.
To scratch in the stone:

A human was here.

Do you remember?
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