ST192 ... words
There is nothing that can’t be signified.
Words shroud themselves with every possible form available. Language developed into certainties within themselves. There is nothing that can’t be signified. In the beginning there was the precept, not a word; a concept, an abstract, a rendition of an awareness, a perception floating on along the river of mystery. We are all lost, found on the banks of illusions.
This great system has taken us to mechanical reason and psychopathic minds bent on control herding-in the followers. Some are aware, many are numb, a few happy, many in despair.
Life keeps on growing tho through change and death. There is no better time than now for anything. The mind is a time machine, the more words the more separate from the source, the beginning is happening always, the end never ends.
She sees straight through the fog into the endless night. There are zones that go and come like acrylic waves on a fading canvas, dreams melting of lava. Her one answer for everything answers everything for all time, ‘i don’t know’.
She walks by obnoxious sounds along the beach of a 21st century, half noice and half dreadful rhythm with even more twisted welds of mixed-waves destroying the latent soft-sounds of the waters and winds. I am free, i can see - time being as it is.
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