To capture visuals in words. To write a tome.
The mysterious wire between parallels.
Care training.
Life as irony. Any given craft will induce suffering.
To thaw out emotion is a rougher ride.
Progress has been motion; we still conjure up schisms.
We debate what love looks like: this might be a triumph.
We spend time—soul weaponizing; we adore until we clutch our guts. Deeper ambition, mesmerized by religiosity.
II
The human quest is ikigai. We long amid myriad stimuli.
Such mystery; captured prayers, drifting towards cosmic ears.
Softer soil; a sort of everything in nothingness; a sullen celebration.
I wonder if God has a shadow. The sweetness of systematic mathematics; native arts, or reminiscent of gaslighting.
Either allow greatness, or step on greatness. Tender falsities. A mind must move. This is how it finds life.
Existence is ironic wisdom. To select artistry demands endurance.
