Sat, Dec 3, 2011
I cannot believe my eyes. I just watched the ship going over a mountain, and I thought that I was in hell. I was there is South America and I forgot what day it was today. I scrolled down to the photograph of glass boxes, and saw another wonder. "Box" and "cube" stand out in front of other boxes and I disagree with the signs. I do not respond to them, I do not accept them. "Empty", "clear", and "glass" are beautiful and I can penetrate through those boxes.
Language seems the undercurrent basis of history. Now, in seducing futures, we cannot afford to think of grammar and syntax as any farer than our own flesh.
Ouch. So good. The end of organic space in which I can exist. Momentous knowledge followed by a smooth blue flame burning from my head and body. I do not believe that the inner self has an end in this world, where it can reach far shores.