Tap, tap, tap...I can still hear that silly crow, jumping around on that metal roof.
It would be nice to fall back upon a universe of just stone and heat. Somehow, between these two things, a multitude of creations can be born.
From stone, a body is formed. Teeth to gnaw the roots of plants. Bones flesh out awkward shapes and house softer stone materials, like the labyrinth of a brain or the blue collar heart - always hard at work, until it dies.
From heat, motion is born. Psychic motion of thought, bubbling up, playing with abstract ideas. The burning caress of emotions. Life.
Yet this universe is more than just stone and heat. It holds true mystery and wonder. Countless men and women have come before with answers. Yet, we do not know. They are just guesses painted upon a blank canvass that remains blank. Anything put upon a page will dissipate.
We will keep trying and just when we think we have it figured out, the ground beneath us will quake. Up will come something so utterly bizarre and novel that we will shoot off into another direction, forgetting anything else.
What will you imagine the future holds for us? A person who says, this can not be, has already died internally. A person who has given up on the potential of themselves and others, has already died. "That can not be...I can't do that...That is impossible..." These are just another way of saying, "I am dead."
Be a stubborn son of a bitch, and push hard against the walls, until your legs began to quiver and you collapse from exhaustion. Eat, sleep, think...then get back up and push even harder. When those walls fall, take a deep sigh of relief, suck in the new fresh air...look around in awe. Then walk as far as you can, until you reach another wall.
Somewhere between all of this simplicity and all of this complexity, there lies a place where imagination is all that exists.
From stone, a body is formed. Teeth to gnaw the roots of plants. Bones flesh out awkward shapes and house softer stone materials, like the labyrinth of a brain or the blue collar heart - always hard at work, until it dies.
From heat, motion is born. Psychic motion of thought, bubbling up, playing with abstract ideas. The burning caress of emotions. Life.
Yet this universe is more than just stone and heat. It holds true mystery and wonder. Countless men and women have come before with answers. Yet, we do not know. They are just guesses painted upon a blank canvass that remains blank. Anything put upon a page will dissipate.
We will keep trying and just when we think we have it figured out, the ground beneath us will quake. Up will come something so utterly bizarre and novel that we will shoot off into another direction, forgetting anything else.
What will you imagine the future holds for us? A person who says, this can not be, has already died internally. A person who has given up on the potential of themselves and others, has already died. "That can not be...I can't do that...That is impossible..." These are just another way of saying, "I am dead."
Be a stubborn son of a bitch, and push hard against the walls, until your legs began to quiver and you collapse from exhaustion. Eat, sleep, think...then get back up and push even harder. When those walls fall, take a deep sigh of relief, suck in the new fresh air...look around in awe. Then walk as far as you can, until you reach another wall.
Somewhere between all of this simplicity and all of this complexity, there lies a place where imagination is all that exists.