adoring dream

The investigation of a quick avalanche of information, healthy it is to feed some intuition of snack and history. For then, I will be at your side lecturing you about the misguided reservations of puritanical thinking as it relates to the cause of the present.

Are there no solutions to the bigger threat of questions? Has alienation sufficed long enough that indulgence in the practice of art becomes wicked tyranny?

Maybe I hear these things being actively spoken. Or maybe a tiny drop of poison has been released into my cup. But I am not this shallow. I would not dare dream of rivers that flow with blood or crucifixes that point to a planetary involvement with cheap routine and a fixation on sex.
Nonetheless, I disassociate from cause and desire. I am the back throw of pieces that were meant to remain high spirited.

The juxtaposition of failure and regret advices the neurotic to become best sellers at a book club. The two fold predicament set on by the mosaic and the temple-study has uplifted the sainthood of no one who knew the arresting importance of protected oppression.
So far, what is missing in history is the ‘final act’ of the dream character who practices celibacy and deliberately contributes peace and freedom to our consciousness.
That’s two hours of a fight not won.

If the oceans were seen to crack, and the obedience to night and day were the final growth spurt of the townsman, one would wake up and the oceans would serve technology and space if knowing that the dream was dreamed. Then, when a hierarchy of noble peacemakers were to fight off the best dreamers, the punctuation of Socratic miseries is over.


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