C o n c e p t s and c o n s t r u c t s. Need to be handled without firm grasp. The delusion of ideological purity creates a psuedo-gravity of relation.

Discreet boundaries where demons linger, my friend. Fiendish wants surround with bells and drums. As if we where talking about the space between us: now and relational gravity. Gravitational pull away and throughout space. No fine lines and angular conception. Celestial beings we are not, Solitary but throughout the fabric. Stitches as a metaphor not quite reaching. Words are used to describe concepts, when the concepts are grasped, words are forgotten. Abstract living. Across boundaries, as if Only a metaphor. I stand without vexed intention. I hold no regret or torment. Where there, The cessation of want exists. The present moment. To not wish for the past to fuel like a smoldering Inferno. And be deceived by its apparent sway, face it. And keep on moving. The illusion of death. The only thing we know of death is through the eyes of a vicarious audience. People speak of loss. There is a definite experience of loss both by the person dying and the people that surround that soul. I use soul because I believe in its existence. However, I will never admit irresponsible ownership of my soul. I do not believe a soul can be apprehended as ownership. So it cannot be sold. Just swept back into the Great Energy, that knows no whims. I walked the beached ideas that once barricaded my life. Now, swept into the ocean, that kisses my feet and fills my soul. So Grand and large the Ocean, Earth's master. The ocean is brought to life by the Sun, the supposed God of the Egyptians and Mayans. Do not stop at the Sun, my friend. Beyond any constellation of thought and meandering presence, the wills of man bear no sway in this Greater Ocean. Just the unfortunate realization at his smallness. This supposed Demon that is the enemy of man. Is much closer to man as the personification of dissatisfaction with his brief lot in Life. This dichotomy only rests within man as a binocular perspective, bound to metaphor in language. A weakness to imagination for the sake of direction.