hmm...

Crawling into the bubble of the space shuttle, we cut loose and sailed to Saturn, those rings offering resting space for my chromium-aluminum hull, we exit and look for signs of the solar system’s biggest hurricane, to get our fill of Mother Nature on a whole new planet. When you step on another world, how many of your archetypes/stereotypes/faded-daguerreotypes have to vanish by necessity, and when fish first stepped out of the water to become monkeys how much heartache was there over lost traditions, and so it is with children of immigrants and the generation gap and this brave new world of amnesia compulsory innovation and a sense we are all in such a hurry to catch up to the Joneses on a foreign planet and there are serfs even in the space shuttle but that’s nothing new.

Once set foot on this strange surface, and exploring crevices and ridges that have no name (except what you could spy by telescope) and you get to name everything, what a tremendous privilege and responsibility, like my theory of naming children: give them names that force people to smile when pronounced so all their lives your kids they grow up feeling love. [this may be complete crap]

We continue to bray and mould this cognitive clay, waiting for that full-on explanation and the complete justification, a sweeping conclusive summary that encapsulates the origin and descent of all that vexes intrigues and fascinates. We postpone that reckoning with our grindstone, always subverting and inventing in a fallacy the perpetual motion machine of sound and fury all leading up to an empty cistern on the hottest day in the desert and then you die. This is a backwards pyramid, this is word-processor prestidigitation. No wonder the philosophers get more famous as they get impenetrable I only write down every second thought you know, I have my rhythm to protect and I can’t handle feedback at a realtime rate, so every other thought is random and every other sentence is deliberate for effect. It’s like being lefthanded in cursive script you know what word comes next but always having to push your whole hand through the current word across raw paper - you skip so many words in a hurry as your pen leads your fist through your reasoning as opposed to the hand moving first and the ink flows from the most recent firing of the synapse. [TILT]