A Walker’s Watch…

What happens when our recall takes us to an existent interval of narrations and of prospects? No past, no present and never a future. Constructs vanish from our conceptual progressions and from our communal distresses.  Perception separates as the incapacity to reason and proceed with principles disappear. If the prescience and means to a concrete and inevitable series of immediate twinkles disappear, than mankind’s loss of vision and goal-oriented proximity results in intellectual and moral collapse.

Teleportation is to “Jaunt.” To move objects or people thru space at will. To move thru space and time is something ‘Special.’ Memories, even as infants are from our past experiences. We require no physical self to remember everything and from these memories our survivals begin, our cognition modifies, our reasons enchant, and through love our wisdom metamorphose into a truth we can accept.

“But I still believe
 
I still believe
 
Through the shame
 
And through the grief
 
Through the heartache
 
Through the years
 
Through the waiting
 
Through the years
 
For people like us
 
In places like this
 
We need all the hope
 
That we can get…by Michael Been / James Paul Goodwin

When the clocks move we do not always believe in the new time. We may be stuck-in-time. Maybe we move through it as physicals. Definitely we are not ‘stuck-in-time’ as Spirits.

Insects large and landing high in trees lining Lake Shore’s edge and stretching for one hundred miles. Giant fireflies appear for two and one-half weeks ‘cross a month that changes day-to-night and back again. Light’s flash and silver leaves reflect many colors that get-go and halt like a pulse and a deep breathing space. Passing through a chrome forest timbre dances from tree to tree. They are of many colors and of multiple shapes. Perception dreams and puppets change without balance and for no reason. Get/go switches as off-on and off again when shapes do not matter, and color is everything.

Memory should always serve as a mode of moral witnessing and protection

against tyranny. When it no longer does so, it signals a crisis of politics,

agency, and civic literacy.” —Henry Giroux

Planet proper peace please. Unusual! Still not home and light-year is long. Far away from places seen and spaces known before earth-fall tunnel bright, and tunnel sight seen inside a space in place between real and among the magic ones. Planet proper peace is pleased. And!  Run coming to streaks of night flash and day dash in a clash or two. And! They come by; copter churn-twist-chop, by lorries-engines-rush, by cart-horse-pull, by men stretcher-manned-carried and all wounded ones or twos or many and behind the layered flash of red-pink-nights we wait and wonder and gather-to-elves notions of a life to stay or life to pass away today.

“Maybe each human being lives in a unique world, a private world different from those inhabited and experienced by all other humans. If reality differs from person to person, can we speak of reality singular, or should not we really be talking about plural realities? And if there are plural realities, are some more true (more real) than others? What about the world of a schizophrenic? Maybe it is as real as our world. Maybe we cannot say that we are in touch with reality, and he is not, but should instead say, His reality is so different from ours that he cannot explain his to us, and we cannot explain ours to him. The problem, then, is that if subjective worlds are experienced too differently, there occurs a breakdown in communication and there is the real illness.” —Philip K. Dick

Peace causes ‘measures’ the matter with changing ‘mean’ worlds. Peace may require more minutes than humanity lasts in pasts-presence and futures long-ago tomorrows. Like a beach moves one shoe full of sand, one time one shoe and then again and then again with winds discounted or recounted. And! Forever changing one shoe ‘at-a-time’ requires long days to change beach places in the wig-waggle of time and space. Worldwide other places, where stop-to-race never goes away, and space is never far enough to silence ‘bad-bad-pop-pops’ noise with sights correct and clutching ground is survival. Now run away to small corners of concrete floors and rusted doors, gate high or wasted.

And! Beautiful you are…

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