thought trickle patterns

here i sit in the infinite stillness, between dualities, expressing nothing.
there spreads the world, eager to spill over the edges, sparkling in every
possible permutation of the sun on the point of a wave in my eye, all over,
like spirits, like elves, like children transmutating continuously to the
verge of the unknown. narrative: the elderly are increasing, will become a
large, consuming, unignorable force in the history of the earth. our
hospitals will be filled with the almost dead, shocking, stitching, drugging
them back to life from the void. we will not know what to do with them, but
we do not want them to leave. they are us, will be us, in time. parallel
narrative: all of our collective potential steams and glistens from the
froth in the sea. it is ridiculous to suppose, propose, or oppose any ideas
of control of the tide of humanity. control is impossible; direction is
probable; release is inevitable. that the earth is harnessed may be true in
certain circles of belief. but like the fashionable wearing of corsets, it
is only a passing fad. sex will happen, no matter how small the holes in
the sheets you may cut. intimacy will spawn, no matter the price, no matter
the pace.
if war is a bestial plague of mankind, then love is the quiet cockroach,
continuing on, no matter what.
exhumation of particular narrational capacity: a tock, a tick, a splitting
of a hair upon the shaft of god, expounding, propounding, pounding pudding
out of microbial propagation, etc, etc, a vision of light, of many lights,
of an infinitude of lights blinking out of the darkness like voices
reminding us that we are not alone, that we are inextricably linked to the
past, that we are writhing the future like running fingernail tips across a
naked lover’s back, in swirls, in dips, in aching expression of what can
never be said, and when the sea comes calling to your mouth you simply
shudder, i know, i remember, i forget, and everyday is a lesson on living
and dying and loving and struggling, and and and and and, the old and the
young and the hungry and the full and the power and the power and the power
and the

Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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