We have been here before. History never repeats itself, but rhymes. And the rhymes reverberate endlessly down a cave hole that ends in water. The bankers, the false prophets, the blind tutors, the Masters of War, gutless insecure. They are amateurs in the eyes of their forefathers who artisaned the craft. Modern danger is not total fiction. We have always been this crazy, but now we have nukes, and our kings no longer die on the shield. Let the practitioners of form flap their virtue signaling. Let them ostracize for the sake of unrepresenting a minority. Let them offer money at the altar of the Blackhole. I and good people have faith in substance and the real. Let them and work. Let them and continue to climb. Nothing good comes without incredible and sheer trial.

We are the delusion engines, and we are only effective should we hone ourselves on reality. This is referred to, usually, as ‘suffering’ as flakes of our constructed pride and artificial identity are scrapped away. The blindfold lifted. The doubt and wonder, the pain and euphoria settle in. The problem of grief is a solution. Everything will be okay. You and me, our existence is testament to our badassery. We represent the far side of extreme coincidence. Luck is on our side, and she is beyond skill.

There are no more original ideas. There have not been for a very long time. ‘Originality’ is a blend of more than one concept. At this we excel. We have always excelled. We are like little explanation machines. Our old Sin in constant sting. Truths are confined by reality. Facts are human extensions of truth. Our ability to ask questions will extend beyond what any of us can conceive. Fiction is without end.

Are we conscious when we dream? Sleep has material difference. The evidence of matrix are mounting. The world’s physical computing power finally equates the ability of a single human mind. Some claim to have lived before. There are others that can see the Noosphere. The deaf mother sees for the blind child. We can see our connection. All bodies through the atomic force. The puppets in my mind take form. Are we holograms of God’s imagination?

What fun little questions. For me, they make life worth the living.