will the world end in the nighttime

Because the temperature is in the forties even in May, I realize the everlasting flux.

Too easy to conflate waypoints with endpoints. The semblances are also the substances. I forget to stay hungry and devour. They give you a piece of meat and then attend to something else because you have meat in your hands. But this story is not over. I have to keep squeezing the clouds while they are in my reach. If you see particles spray, and can't tell if you still have hair on your head, then something is keeping you alive.



This may come across as self-absorbed poetry. Then it is a launch pad for a collaborative effort. Loud opposition with a new suit and a house and a pet and remarkable responsibility. For a moment I think I was understood and I had found my constellation.

How does a complex engine keep in tune? By quick, small strokes, placed in harmonious succession - the individual parts deliver a single force through constructive interference of physical power. Even if I were to gather all my energies into one benign copasetic thrust, it would be wasted on the whole. For without the concert of a coherent metronome authority of intention, the individual beat is for naught.




There must really be a grand membrane surrounding us all. Binds us all. Relates us all. All everything within a grand membrane, and it is circular, corpuscular, spherical, point-like, infinitely curved, countably angled, divergent, … tastes like chicken.