As I finished On the Road, and did some research, I had a kind of manic experience for a few days. The piece below is about that. Call it a hyper-crypto-gram or perhaps hyper-cypto-verse.
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Magic. . .chaos.
An old bull was inspiration enough as I retreated from the noise of my wife's Love, Actually -- also a Christmas running out of steam. Next day, the ontological as ret-con. Then weird things happened. Oneness made abundant in late chapter and verse of the stream. Then a search, a reminder enough that we can make our lives . . . sublime. But . . . real hero against Moloch? Really . . . reality?
The bard sublime is not the only Will. To cut up, A river Ran past a second Cumming.
Time, man. Yes, yass.
The whole ended at the beginning of time, and perhaps the hole began at the beginning of time.
Long live the holy.
The holy whole or holy hole or holy hole and holy whole. Reminiscence on those wholesome times . . . swelling, pulsating.
I'll Grant you the odds of coincidence are im-ponder-able.
Chaos magick, they say.
