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how strange indeed
a stray thought
sailing towards
the eye of the bull
of time
challenging that eye
to show itself
apart from my subjectively
thinking it is
is that why it flies when I'm
having fun
that is, for thinking of it less
yet drags to the point of
eternal damnation
when so focused upon it
that its sands
refuse to fall?
~kijetesantakalu wrote (thread):
superimposed upon an unending matrix our linear regression of it makes note of our state can you fly without propulsion? can you act without impetus? can you will without thought? it is through this that sand etches away our mind the workings of it finely polished brass turning the hourglass of our own destruction ...of our own joy?