The Books - smells like content
Most of all, the world is a place where parts of wholes are described within an overarching paradigm of clarity and accuracy.
The context in which makes possible an underlying sense of the way it all fits together, despite our collective tendency not to conceive of it as such.
But then again, the world without end is a place where souls are combined, but with an overbearing feeling of disparity and disorderliness.
To ignore it is impossible without getting oneself into all of kind of trouble, despite one’s best intentions to not get entangled with it so much.
Meanwhile, the statues are bleeding green.
And others are saying things much better than we ever could; as the quiet become suddenly verbose.
And the hail’s heralding the size of nickels.
And the street corners are gnashing together like the gears inside the head of some omniscient engineer.
And downward flows the garnered wisdom that has never died
Then finally, we opened the box, we couldn’t find any rules.
Our heads were reeling with the glitter of possibilities, contingencies… but with ever increasing faith we decided to go ahead and just ignore them, despite tremendous pressure to capitulate with fate.
So instead, we went ahead to fabricate a catalog of unstable elements and modicums and particles.
With not zero total strangeness for brief moments which amount to nothing more than tiny fragments of a finger snap.
Meanwhile, we’re furiously seeing green.
And the map has started tearing along its creases due to overuse… when in reality it’s never needed folds.
And the air’s withholding the sound of its wellspring.
And our heads approach a density reminiscent of the infinite productivity of the center of the sun.
And there in lies the garnered wisdom that has never died.