Something Lost in Translation

Agog, afloat in silent space, no matter, disorientation. Gone is the window, all we can do... is hope instability, will suck us into vaccuum, however tenuous, into...some sort of shape. We comfort our illusions, insist the definitions, had a counterpart in the real. This intangible state's a mistake. You can't wrap your hand, or your mind round it. It can not be what's real. Oscillating energy, vibrating into its resonant dimension, A chair, a table, the shrill, sound we are shouting. Alive again until, we get our why answered again, and all is miasma, nothing more than frequency emitting no intention, just shaking in time, started up by something, far away in space. I touched yesterday. It knew me, had felt me before. I felt the hand of tommorow persuade me, that there's something more, than a myth can opine through eternity. A divinity of mindless reaction. Just out there, and inside us, doing its thing. We are ignorant children, and can not percieve, responses invokes by our slightest reaction. We don't live long enough, and won't often believe, in the mindless and spiritless thing, we all really are. Yet we must keep stumbling down this eternal road, we've got so very far, before we even start to speak the language, the universe speaks fluently. Written February 3rd, 2002 © on Feb 03 2002 04:19 AM PST, Neurosine    0 • 10