Time and all its durational boundaries are a stupendous manifestation of spontaneous mechanical processes, fluctuating indefinitely with no sense of propriety. And as it is, is unavoidably entwined or embedded in an invisible fabric of numerical chemical-biology, atoms ever colliding betwixt, and programmes every temporal locality concentrically across absent spaces, having no clue of being anything, anywhere. What is wide and long and great and big or small is of no necessary ontological importance. It dissipates back into nowhere.
It never was or is nor will be.
Back into the Great Aeon.
Through its own inevitable hyper-abstactional limitations, dissolves, till eventually through out itself concomitantly in a state of paralyzed stasis, a god has construed a living thing, based on some unknown mode, between six walls in the midst of empty space.
Why pursue in decay a pearl in the rot? A precious stone that isn't there in the dark ashes of sterile rust? And yes, was never but in fantasy a day dream for democratic asses.
Always in search of putting a god into chains, to slaughter what is best coming from the heavens. Hiring accountants who count the big and little sins: inscribing on tree bark or animal skins the holy rules we should go by?
Ripping forests, devising mayhem. Constantly praying something that just isn't there in Granny's house?
Putting disgraceful and ungrateful children on marvelous thrones of inhumanity, which, were built on nothing but vainglory, adding insult to injury!
Great concrete cavities reaching over sand into a vast white blue intangible celestial ceiling. Bombs and shattered innocence; all destroyed in the wink of an eye, underneath rubble, broken into missing limbs.
Camels and petrol. And money, the meaningless debt dealt to dummies.
All my hope is detached from the ciment. The sacred spirit is gone but there, like Plotinus among the starry deep with his friends.
The busy rotors of daily living dazed in a transe in suburban metro tunnels. Predestined by chance in a cave somewhere near Greece or on some island near Lesbos.
Living inside a windy place of dust and wetness, unless my eyes can see if God permit, should I prevail; as a non programmable interface ready to invent. ...originating inadvertently from a super aethereal doorway.
Unpredictable, hiding at once in the curtain folds swaying in front of unseen worm holes.
Blond and blue eyed, surfing on the international kosmic net. A god-man Aryan. Drinking haoma and eating amber, sitting with the Krist and Zarathustra, laughing quite loud!
The little bear swinging in the sky.
A super-conscience astrally interweaving into unconscious cordes, full of numerical bits and bites. Nano-scratches clasping at calcium on a tortoise's back. Delineating compassionately, from afar, in the distant playgrounds, while admiring foxes, and star-fish on the beach at the edge of the world.
Always in search of putting a god into chains, to slaughter what is best coming from the heavens. Hiring accountants who count the big and little sins: inscribing on tree bark or animal skins the holy rules we should go by?
Ripping forests, devising mayhem. Constantly praying something that just isn't there in Granny's house?
Putting disgraceful and ungrateful children on marvelous thrones of inhumanity, which, were built on nothing but vainglory, adding insult to injury!
Great concrete cavities reaching over sand into a vast white blue intangible celestial ceiling. Bombs and shattered innocence; all destroyed in the wink of an eye, underneath rubble, broken into missing limbs.
Camels and petrol. And money, the meaningless debt dealt to dummies.
** * ** **
All my hope is detached from the ciment. The sacred spirit is gone but there, like Plotinus among the starry deep with his friends.
The busy rotors of daily living dazed in a transe in suburban metro tunnels. Predestined by chance in a cave somewhere near Greece or on some island near Lesbos.
Living inside a windy place of dust and wetness, unless my eyes can see if God permit, should I prevail; as a non programmable interface ready to invent. ...originating inadvertently from a super aethereal doorway.
Unpredictable, hiding at once in the curtain folds swaying in front of unseen worm holes.
Blond and blue eyed, surfing on the international kosmic net. A god-man Aryan. Drinking haoma and eating amber, sitting with the Krist and Zarathustra, laughing quite loud!
The little bear swinging in the sky.
A super-conscience astrally interweaving into unconscious cordes, full of numerical bits and bites. Nano-scratches clasping at calcium on a tortoise's back. Delineating compassionately, from afar, in the distant playgrounds, while admiring foxes, and star-fish on the beach at the edge of the world.
Swinging to and fro on the dragon road. Extracting the inexistant pebble; making beer and never one piece of gold.
Never getting sick of one's self. Never stern!
