people wasting their real time on this planet, an urge for some
quantification some deified dollar that represents their productive time
in material form, to make others suppressed by the weight of their
guilt… culling the flock for a purpose beyond their means, that all
seems so very old world to me, and the traditional cruelties make my
skin crawl unconsciously… subdued by our own drive to move forward, but
based upon what reason usually?… fear, whether fear of the known or
unknown, but it appears this balancing act between fear and freedom is
what creates that most universal of tensions… this is what makes people
easy and difficult to train in the same breath, asleep in a conscious
form picking up the cosmic radio flow of signals and symbols, but the
transmitter doesn’t necessarily have to tell us what it is trying to do
Here… we move like ants before the grandiose sway of ideal and
far-reaching titans, the aliens looking down upon their machinery with a siphoning of the emotional energies with which we tag each other, but
too many times we see the by-product of these interactions even as we do
not seem to have a static or physical landmark to show us the way… the
tenderness of feelings affect these logical “air” spirits or angels, and
we are a collection of packages of genetic and spiritual information,
with forms ascended from the earth chiseled into shape by the
forces-that-be… we are human because of our animal and alien parts,
pulled through this linear continuum as experienced by all participants,
but with quizzical expressions upon our adroit faces as we reveal to
ourselves the splendid ending… we are the spectrum born into being, each
a vital position in dire need of motion, but this dynamism changes as
we live through the minutia of each self at once… though there are
further subtle details behind the scenes we approach to then devour,
something that fuels or deprives these elements that endeavor to create,
but these foundations are not meant for the naked senses… rather
defined for the spiritual centers that drive one towards the
destination, not merely the pull of physical space and time, but the
inhuman qualities of fire and water as they spin the wheels around
through the ups and downs of the life everlasting… the purposeless get
weened out from the raven’s wing black of culture, a shadow stretching
without bounds, but lies closer to the surface flying over the
primordial pool searching out pieces of the dream to be realized again…
