The Whole Made Wholly Discrete

One hope is too like despair [. . .]

But wilt thou accept not [. . .]

The desire of the moth for the star

-Percy Shelley-

Be water, my friend.”

-Bruce Lee-

To do what’s right by

carrying on the flame

of this perennial fight,

Even if that means to die

trying in countless iterations

throughout the multiverse of eternity.

The struggle is like a game,

at which one either fails

indefinitely or else one day, in the

ecstasy of communication, we

conquer it down to every last bit.

Us, spirits of the air,

who are but one, but one of many.

The beautiful, the good, the true are all one

thing experienced subjectively

as a Triad, although in point of fact

They are the same objectively speaking.

But behold the Demogorgon

whose form is schismogenesis that

inverts the One into contradicting ideologies.

What modern mythology within a mythology is this,

that we have come to accept as the

immutable reality? Civilization is

a corruption of nature!

Or don’t you recall how

communal living was seen as savagery,

because a proper society must of course,

condone the norms of slavery!

“Why not sell the air, the great sea,

as well as the earth?”

Don’t you know our very souls

are the air, the great sea,

as well as the earth,

A part of the Great Mystery!

Spirits of the air, latent with

the energy of the evaporated Creek,

Rise! Spirits of the evaporated Creek,

Fire in the heart of a nation long oppressed.

Air is the kindling, swollen

with the power of lightning,

strike and pour into the rivers

of awakened consciousness,

Inundate the world with peace

and understanding!

Each and every one

of us occupies a unique

duration in time, and we must

grant the dimensions of them all

an equality of value.

We must eradicate precarity,

all time spent collecting paper

to pay the rent, a möbius strip

of abstracted domination whereby

Being itself is taxed—

We must liberate Time,

to become like land was

to earth’s indigenous ancestors,

Holy and held in common;

A part of us

to utilize and watch over,

not to be exploited. . .

Otherwise there’ll be

no peace but pieces

of utopia for the Lords

Of artifice,

ideas and words,

Fluid made concrete.