People are not born. We are
imagined. Pure awareness appearing to be unaware is self-awareness seeing
through itself.
This song and dance of consciousness is unbelievably phenomenal.
On the final ascent of the western slope is seen the sea of dawnland.
This virtual reality is all about
the one forgetting zero. As the emperor of greenleaf is the oriole. Bee the
buzz.
Because there's no beginning, you'll never know the end, even if it's all
you think about. April mixes memory and May.
By deconstructing the personal, the
universal is absolute. It's projection, stupid.
Writing myself into the canyon
of death rode the ten thousand. Enjoy the film. I can't remember being born but
I was taught death.
I read Frost and I read Jack Kerouac and loved them side by
each. Stuck inside of Lowell with the Salem
blues again.
Quick brown fox only attendance is required. Empire feeds on the
thought of death.
Understanding consciousness appears to be the only way. Que
sera sera. Keep on being until it doesn't hurt.
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