June 26, 2010

By the river moon...

Before it passes out bit by bit, the information makes it to the very edge. 
Then it repeats.
Processes that scintillate in a rhythmic oscillation are  perhaps cumulative accumulations of change that fluctuate with the same sort of reticulated rumination that you are unaware of as you read this non-sense confession about being oblivious of the perennially rudimentary processes that underlie the physiology of  the process of  trying to make sense. 
Curiosity has its own reason for existence. 
Reason has its own reasons. 
So does existence.
In the end, what are we trying to make sense of my friend?
In the end, are we not supposedly stranger than the strangest things in the universe?
What is reality if not a state of mind?
What is the stuff that is 'seen' by the blind?
When the deaf hear voices are they hearing music or are they simply schizophrenic?
Who is the know-it-all all-knowing, and who is probably hallucinating?
Who knows the answers to such questions!
Does it matter?
Doesn't anybody mind?
So here's what you must do.
Just be and do what you are doing and let be done to you what is being done to infinite authors of fractal realities encapsulated for eternity beyond space and time.
Just remember one thing - be careful of what you write and read.