deathless prose?

I question the concept of being other than biodegradable. Seeing what was before and after the advent of man. Equivocal towards naming, claiming and imaging The Creator anthropomorphic. Which seems at best a conceit to aggrandize those who have no other way to excuse their behavior.

Utopia or dystopia seems little matter when you consider that everything dies: Mountains, monuments, continents become obscure - eventual dust. . . . to gyre and return in another form, re-manufactured in Black Holes.

Gandhi, far wiser than i, in my lexicon and pantheon, did not imply but explicitly stated: “THERE IS NO GOD HIGHER THAN TRUTH.” - or so my refrigerator magnet says to my continual chagrin until now that i have begun to validate and redefine my dreams, imaginings and sense of periodicity allowing the river of others flow through not mind but mindfulness, not conscience but consciousness.

Given the relative immensity and infinitesimal my favorite vision remains two glass funnels conjoined; the apex of an egg timer? through which passes--what?

. . . to Be Here Now: confessing/admitting/submitting all the conceits/foibles/follies remembering being the ventriloquist dummy of reporters who occasionally referred to ‘deathless prose.’ Chagrined the prostitution of our talents genuflection before the fools: The Congress of Baboons. Merely another form of criminality. I digress. What matter the characters of harum-scarum who should by all rights be scourged then gibbeted for treason against the commonweal. 

. . . but then what is life for but to act in our time?

Honey Bunny follow the money and know the fools for what they do, not what they say. Remembering they, in self-congratulatory conceit, reward themselves endlessly. Whatever you may think we are owned by “The Man” with the most money - at least in this life. Slaves one-and-all.

130303 05:47 deathless prose?
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