Change is change changing, always on
the move but not sensory obvious. We claim we are from the land of
metaphorical depiction. We come equipped with still cameras called event
synopsis 'evidenturesomes' . . . This is our method for being abruptly
confluent within our presumptuous terms of self-assessment. We address the
world as if it were just an accommodating side-mirror to view our
elocutionary selves, stationary as we zoom by. As a solipsism, across the man made
borders of the material plains, it pervades . . . Language, as our closest
guardian, keeps us myopically in check. Atrophy, as the verb, is our most
sacred religion. "Nows" get no further than the king of Lego-land
pronouncement. We all stand in long lines of logic, tongue-tied, waiting
to get in. Milling, of all kinds, as we do, has social media potential. "Rock-on"
is a quantum interior mountain yet to be consensually named, much less
collectively climbed. Reincarnation has chapter endings with next chapters as
start-ups titled "other books". Soul is head librarian. She never
speaks to anyone directly yet accepting with her eyes. It is hard to have your
book overdue. Literacy seems to come from computer screens of all kinds, in
this fast paced current world. Crossing into the inner plains is an
urban myth as a falsehood. Identification of self as not already there. This
is the prank that plays to time as we are an appreciative audience. We are
all dynamically happy by varying degrees and thus vacantly applaud with
our means of meagerness called suffering. It is all
ambiently dynamic. There are no comparisons. Each breeze poses in the face
of man as this symbology caters is our snap shot existence. Living and
dying, we are skip-stones in action. Which, by contact, is which? And from
where did you hurl? (varies with each person . . . see fine print, between
lives lived . . .) Change is change changing . . .
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