STEP TOWARDS THE STARLIGHT

photo by Lady Dawson

… for all you know, you could be repeating this same damn loop a thousand times and it'd play out the same time, each and every way. But maybe on the 1001th pass, things would be different. A little different, but different enough to break the cycle and send you somewhere else — completely, unexpectedly, absolutely. I think therein lies one of the comforts of techno. If you want to repeat that same damn loop a thousand times and it'd play out the same way, each and every time. But maybe on the 1002th pass, things ARE different. Atonal meandering over chugging beats gives way to a blossoming section of harmony, the solid pound of a kick drum warms like birthing calves in the springtime. And still, you know where you are. It's the same. And different. At the same time, and should you realize that for all you know, you could be repeating…

… not that you should ask any of them about rampant AIs. It's not a good question because the answer will not satisfy you — nor will it provide you with any mere sustenance in a quest for knowledge which has become more like persecution of the anomaly. I suppose you could tweak the ends of the code and end up with one of those "kill you with kindness" (?)?variations, but that doesn't go over — well — here. There's a certain pulsecode to all of this, isn't there, dude? Rhythm of life? Ah, I've known this before. And after. The game is sometimes the same but played different ways. You can imagine where I'm going with this (strings of life) when you bend it back to the robotmen. Should you be seeking them, you will find them elusive. And even if you should find them, although you have a shared vision, how many possible ways are there to get from here to — well, there? I should tell you, first of all…

… it's kind of like how I related, earlier, that head-nodding is a valuable skill to have. If you aren't in time, then your flamming is a crime. Some of the time…

… really, one thing leads to another until you have this long, sequenced chain of what you know to be true. Your personal truths. Hugs do matter, and so do kisses. So do other ways to express your warmth. (There is a place for the cold in this world.) It's like the dream of waking up on ivory-sanded shores, towering cedars overlooking the island you find yourself voluntarily stranded on, and you gaze outwards — yes, Outwards — at boxes of tea being generated, one after another. You'll have enough tea to drink for many lifetimes. Nearby, watermelons are dropping. They are juicy ripe red. I hope that's to your taste. Two fashionistas in platforms shuffle by, pointing their wands at the sky, as a chain-smoking kitty cat sculpts a recyclable type of art out of boozy six-packs. The lines are blurred…

Do NOT answer the questions. You have had enough. Now, it is time to balance things out and begin an inquisition of your own into what you have seeked out for so long…

… and you may remain hopeful in life that the possibility exists. You may have not found it yet, but you have that hope, and so, you carry on — even in the midst of so much pain and suffering. You look for the wonder in life, the moments you wish you could freeze in time when you all look back. But life does go on, and you have those happy memories to treasure. Hopefully you will remember them for a long time to come. Do not forget the good things. The times when things seem to click together and everything makes sense — even for a fraction of a nanosecond — before your world collapses and reinvents itself again. And the things you want to say to those who matter to you, even if they may be profoundly absurd and forward, do speak. Some of those you care about may not be here to listen tomorrow. Life is like that. You'll always have regrets. Regret less.