Another course of the mystic travellers, on dusty ill-kept roads illuminated by the elegance of angular pulsation, muttered contemplation (under the breath, will the clock strike?). And for this they earn all respect, all struggling quotations of meaning afracture; and yet, something underneath seems hopeful and I arm my mind as I only know how to. They say there's a certain time of life, consequental moments of convergence at all its force. This is that time. Though by which telling, and of which variation, I do not know. Struggling, afloat and always conflicted.

Are the owls what they seem?
Has the eagle landed?
Next stop on the transhuman express:
convergence point of alternative universality thunderdome!

What if this isn't happening at all? Why don't they get the pillsbury dough boy to speak out on the war? What would an iguana do? What if he turns out to be a ham sandwich? Comandeer all transdynamic vehicles with beeswax and totem poles, spun pummelt with caustic exactitude, andover mindsilence.. you know, like slurpees in the winter... These are the flaws that lie in having a single point funnel of a hierarchy. Information is prevailant in his position. And the manipulation and application of that information
The enemy wears many faces. Along with the fool, he is the tyrant, the cowboy, and the horse's ass. I believe he is aware of each of these facades and uses them to his own gain.
I am an igloo. My fires are hot though my ice will not melt. Like in Animal Crossing.
These passive, objective summaries do nothing to further the intellectual quotient of mankind. Let us eat our tails and spill our bile over all.

just because the corner i'm in is comfortable
doesn't mean i'm comfortable in the corner I am in
even if the corner is a happy corner
even if the corner is makes me feel right
it's still a corner, and i'm still backed in.