Beyond the Illusion of Things
They lived on a volumetric veneer and so every second day they traveled on its channels. This was the only way they had found to sustain their society.
Some go to favorite restaurants, and eating seems to consume them. For others, they can only eat so much food. It was seldom guessed that thoughts could be about other than sex or money, and of course, food.
But there was one. For him, a mission had emerged and that was to be the return of the power of the word, from its state of forming more confusion than explanation, and seldom used to find the truths any more, or the new things to take us to a more positive tomorrow for all.
One day, while having a coffee with Knolff, he mused: The world is an echo of the word, the word in itself being a translation of thought. We must not be thinking, not much to translate these days.
The world itself had few concerns except to make it rain. Concerns were human gifts, and may possess many desires. We ourselves are possessors of an esoteric knowledge which is not far, but near to our senses.
Our senses are occluded and altered by a series of lenses and filters, so much are we bombarded with information that our 7 M year old brain takes over and remembers what it wants, the conscious mind maybe what it had for lunch.
Yes. Yes there had been giants, but not here, and not now even there. Consciousness needs to be lit, it needs sparks to produce its magic light not always of reason, that new thing, but of age, of original mind from 7 million years ago, before the superstructure.
Some call it an alien brain lock, a restriction, a governor placed on us so we slow down and don't reach the stars too soon and ruin everything and all.
Can the seed be warned of the tree or flower it is to become? The descriptions of the world we receive are from far away, poetical; does no one come up close, even the philosopher?
The true power of thinking was kept from you, as was creativity and soul. It was only years later that the true, finished name of the "orange" was found, in the notes of the discoverer of the citrus fruit. He was trying to say "orange blackberry" before his untimely heart attack, never finishing the name of the fruit he had found in Florida.
We are the black cats in dark rooms that may or may not be here, and that sure is a relief. At least some people are too young to be in a bad mood.
Part of the whole, but not the kind you fall into, was his state of mind. Suppose the world were finally explained to satisfaction, who would be courageous enough to live it?
Sunglasses that looked like tits had finally done it for the women, they felt the men were not staring at their breasts as much, only once every five, six seconds now.
It was true as the old Celtic saying had said, that when you battle many monsters, you find some of them inside yourself. But suppose no matter what your subconscious had been locked inside a box: would you open it?
Who wonders about the power of the word and its relation to color, to tone and frequency? I am elated yet somewhat disappointed, but I have to ask: Are those tears of happiness, Knolff?
Some go to favorite restaurants, and eating seems to consume them. For others, they can only eat so much food. It was seldom guessed that thoughts could be about other than sex or money, and of course, food.
But there was one. For him, a mission had emerged and that was to be the return of the power of the word, from its state of forming more confusion than explanation, and seldom used to find the truths any more, or the new things to take us to a more positive tomorrow for all.
One day, while having a coffee with Knolff, he mused: The world is an echo of the word, the word in itself being a translation of thought. We must not be thinking, not much to translate these days.
The world itself had few concerns except to make it rain. Concerns were human gifts, and may possess many desires. We ourselves are possessors of an esoteric knowledge which is not far, but near to our senses.
Our senses are occluded and altered by a series of lenses and filters, so much are we bombarded with information that our 7 M year old brain takes over and remembers what it wants, the conscious mind maybe what it had for lunch.
Yes. Yes there had been giants, but not here, and not now even there. Consciousness needs to be lit, it needs sparks to produce its magic light not always of reason, that new thing, but of age, of original mind from 7 million years ago, before the superstructure.
Some call it an alien brain lock, a restriction, a governor placed on us so we slow down and don't reach the stars too soon and ruin everything and all.
Can the seed be warned of the tree or flower it is to become? The descriptions of the world we receive are from far away, poetical; does no one come up close, even the philosopher?
The true power of thinking was kept from you, as was creativity and soul. It was only years later that the true, finished name of the "orange" was found, in the notes of the discoverer of the citrus fruit. He was trying to say "orange blackberry" before his untimely heart attack, never finishing the name of the fruit he had found in Florida.
We are the black cats in dark rooms that may or may not be here, and that sure is a relief. At least some people are too young to be in a bad mood.
Part of the whole, but not the kind you fall into, was his state of mind. Suppose the world were finally explained to satisfaction, who would be courageous enough to live it?
Sunglasses that looked like tits had finally done it for the women, they felt the men were not staring at their breasts as much, only once every five, six seconds now.
It was true as the old Celtic saying had said, that when you battle many monsters, you find some of them inside yourself. But suppose no matter what your subconscious had been locked inside a box: would you open it?
Who wonders about the power of the word and its relation to color, to tone and frequency? I am elated yet somewhat disappointed, but I have to ask: Are those tears of happiness, Knolff?
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