The spectacle is non-porous. It’s well oiled and frictionless. Like a water slide, which grates with annoying joins, it funnels movement. It’s plasticity knows no bounds. It acts on us and we on it. It reflects desire and dreams and infuses everything with the appearance of substance without tactility or flaw. Not the heart though. It grabs. It pierces the spectacles thinly veiled vernacular and sends ripples through space and time. It holds. It ruptures complacency and creates a displacement in the fabric of your day. It’s threads are delicate and strong. The world slows, unravels, flips. Welcome this disruption whenever it arrives and watch your personal spectacle crumble all around you.
Travel ruins you. It reaches depths not fathomed previously. It guts like a mullet, and tears at your spleen. You beg for more while you bunk and slumber. No one should do it. Stay put. Sleep longer. Meditate. Drink. Seek therapy.
If I were a monsoon, I would swoop down on you. I would circle you and rain hard. I would wrap myself around you in a wet embrace, writhing and drenched. I would compress you, elongate you. I would be your shroud, your cloud - for that moment.
I wouldn’t recognise Herman Hess in the street, would you?
You are space-time. Your are continuum, careering (in the finest sense of the word) toward oblivion.
Your order is necessary. It signals a kind of control you are complacent with. It’s shrouded in archaic density. The kind that thwarts freedom. It evokes self-pity and a lack of something real. You don't need a scapegoat. There is only one way to behave - without fear, but with passion, with grace. Be slack and carefree. Shuffle on, oh delicate one…
Your elevation is by design. It does nought to struggle with words of less efficacy. Only through the bow breaking does the heart sink. In the meantime hulls and keels hold their weight like dolphins caressing the crest of a wave, never breaching, always at pace.
Months of labour were invested into the portal. It required rigorous computations and went through numerous structural failures. The result is not only an efficient spatial exchange, but is a type of universal architecture that eschews elegance beyond repute.
The last of the deities was put to rest in 2056. The was resistance but it was overshadowed by the relentlessness of the plastics industry. Their design, and their desire, was simple. They sought strength through a seamless and bipartisan approach to non-attachment. A world made effortless through absence. Nonporous surfaces were omnipresent. Efficiency did increase however, this much was true. Once in a while an eye catches another eye and the universe implodes. A connection somewhat unfamiliar dislodges the tupperware-like state of the rational. And we melt once again.
Stasis abounds and is presided over gyoza and sake. It remains steadfast in the light of passion and compassion. It’s bewilderment strangles the clean gracefulness of universal disruption, and leaves us deflated and bemused. There’s logic here but it’s not clear. It requires patience and temperance. The guttural reality of the heart is bursting through embankments of complex matter, screaming and groping for resolution. It hinders action, while forcing the body to the depths of experience - a place where life meets art and poetry abounds. A place that reeks havoc on every pore of your being. Be strong silent soldier.
Upon take-off _________ reclined. She no longer needed restraint. She had successfully emancipated herself from his body and was now weightless. She successfully disengaged his frontal lobe and sank, like a feather, deeper into the universe. This was a relatively simple procedure for the warrior. After years of forced disengagement _________ could negotiate her thoughts to resolution cleanly and swiftly.
Green was nominated to be Universal President in 2346 under the advisory committee for Totalitarian Democracy. It received unprecedented support not experienced by any sentient being prior to its running for office. In a landslide victory Green held sway over less favourable candidates whose bias toward subjectivity can, in hindsight, be seen as their downfall.
Uncertainty appears catatonic - like a debilitating conjecture of chaos and bliss. There is balance. There is light, where spirit soars and animals roar.
Men of earth take heed. You are needed. Our strength is misdirected, but important. We have potency and strength that can warn, lead, direct, charm, negate and soothe. We are mortars of acton exemplified in form, but, my word, it needs to be tempered! We can no longer act obtusely. Tread lightly until called upon. Commit your heart to benevolence and forge a sacred union with its opposite. Bridge this universal fleshy gap, and do not deify. Seek divinity and grace in every gesture. Swear sacrificial lambs and thunderbolts to profound union - and work, work, work, until it is manifest. Go forth gently until your fire is elegant, rife and bright. The stage is set.
Live well. Live with honour and conviction. Strive for grace in movement. Live with brevity and gravity. Live through your breath. Keep pace and keep good time. Be in-control and out of it simultaneously. Smile at the ones you love, shed tears around those you don’t. Stay tuned. Keep clear. Let whims and fancies guide.
There is a house on a hill, silently immobile. While time and its storms roll on by, it connects us. Unwinds us. Unravels us. And forever will be.