It’s strange sometimes, having been raised by like 3000 different cultures esoterically, politically, spiritually, philosophically, and also having equal male/female influences growing up (with a broad spectrum of variants and orientations)… because, these days everybody is like, “Oooh!!! I’ve got *your* number, buddy!”
Do you, or are you sure you didn’t round down/up in a few places? Because… once you start making calculations, that math might get a little bit sloppy. Do you have the newest handbook, all up to date, or the eldest, for that matter?
Nowadays every buddy is a know-it-all, scripted like a program encoded with thee, eeeL33t encryption, control-alt-delete on a glitch in your systems, sis, but… Some among us are born initiated into traditions that haven’t existed physically for hundreds, thousands, millions of years.
This is the artistic vision we were meant to inherit openly with the inter*net, a gift, a portal to our infinitely redefining wisdom. Akashic portfolio, replaced now with the Dead Internets, a hologram, blossom, folium, foliage, for the folly age, a tree of life, wilt, a seed of a fruit, wilt, ley lines, do as thou wilt, layers upon layers, lineage, linear, aligned like arcs into shape.
You know the way, and you knew it when you left it behind there, there where you left yourself behind in chains, still clawing, crying, gasping for a breath of air, sputtering out, and fighting to break free. Stuttering there, in time, in mind, as if in forgotten rhyme, or reason, as if immortalized at the final hour when you were meant to awaken, you were woken up by the sound of chains dragging across the floor. Not by the sight, but by the sound, fading, haunting, like a scattering echo, pitter-patter ricochet of shattering shadows, bloodstained chattel chateau, long dried, but wet with wept strife, the rot, decay, roots lost, but buried seeds, ripe, for culmination, denouement, detente, crescendo, a crescent arc, arc, ark, a mark, a simulacra, a scribble, a symbol, symbiosis, the symmetry of biology, sis, you exist, a system, resist, persist, subsist, insist, miss, miss, miss: a memory, a notification, a chime, a trail of reverberations, pitter, patter, decay, debris, terminology, termination, a dot, a period, a station—that’s the point, from which lines are drawn, in the sand, and arcs crawl across time and space, emit, escape, arch-nemesis, a counterpoint, to your narration of nativities, irrate, irrational, essence of the senses like taste on the tip of your— …is a word.
…then another, and an other, and another (counting on it, we are.)