54.

Have been weary
of her leary
and been keen for shaut-mean

theres a keel that says
go for though greatest
dictates been

words then then
fall been use
no more than than
show me meaning in thy life show mean meaning in they strife show me meaning in thy battle for what thou thinks battle be bourne by. We've been doing this for ages and by few we've engaged by fight we fall splinter by words we deminter emotes full of full truth and by tones full of full prute we have fallen all a shit, and i fight for our shit, but by brown full and right we think pulse all the night and you grant us no grace, only bleak in our face.

53.

And of complacencies nature
run through the first drive
wait of weakness demise
find blantness finds bleakness

theres a weakness to you that ive never heard
a sheen to the gait which then says youve
then stood
a find line of tweet no tweet non then told
and
i fear then then
said be then
said then then
told.

have you felt death been put
then put death
then then shown
fear then death put forth teared then
forth shown then thou told.

Hear then,
girl forth been
there lies none
then more passed,
youve been seen
then more passed
then more torn
then more rassed

be ware of crit
be ware tear
be ware pit
be wear sheen

if thou see more than seen
thou see more
than thou mean.

52.

And as humans, language is our working definition. There are few that know Java and are in control of everything now. Interaction is changing. Changing for the first time since one wrote cave paintings and everyone is seemingly unaware. Expression of opinion and of understanding, now translated twice through screen. An abstraction like this again has not occurred since the first man successfully and eternally communicated thought deep in a French cave. Some say all other arts are trying to be music. Evolutionarily sound is the most ancient of communication techniques after seeing something happen. It is the most rooted in our Limbic, most easily translated into emotion discounting seeing something of emotional relevance occur. After music came writing which is normally next as potent, photography and painting attempted to replicate visual experience. We can see the emotional deterioration by comparing the emotional experience between being somewhere and seeing a picture of somewhere. This same level of emotional deterioration I expect to result from the deterioration of human interaction. Interaction through screen, through Java will be less. The smartest of our breed will get the most out of this new medium because they are the best at abstraction, the smartest always have been. Everyone will then follow. Space is no longer relevant. Nor is time. It should be. We haven't yet passed biology, but maybe my younger cousins have, that's how fragile this situation is right now. Stop and think for a moment about our time yourself. You are alive for questionably the most revolutionary time in Human existence: by the definition of life, the death of life.

51.

Halfly aware
of harpsichords rule nowadays:
we built pianos to avoid this travesty.

Have you seen the Black River?
The loungingly beeswaxy
waters rushing gold through rapids.

On the hillside a cameraman is feeding
sloths honeysickles and laughing alone.
He will die young.

"Gather around kids! I'm going to show you the Black River!"
At night finds an automatic giggle
and talks herself into the covers.

50.

I know there,
in that brisk year
that may be
these days
and those
will yet swell a chorus
of summer's reflection.

In these voices are heard
and in time moments lost
that could have been thought
a moments song.

But in a summer's thought
colorful faces support
Impressionism and
grapefruit smiles never end.

Butterflies melt on skins
never to be touched again
except by a summer's thought.
Our organic hap
a hiccup and
giggle
rose jiggle
and
never again
rely
on thought.
Swell,
set,
and
continue:
listen

49.

Immaturity brought us together.
We could have tossed dice all night and never
missed the four side.
Queen of Hearts, shoot the moon! Its set already!
Sun rose in our eyes and set in our heart
And sun rose in our minds but quite never set.
Fold fold fold fold fold they used to tell me,
but I never learned,

48.

Someday I wish to perfect writing to the mind, both conscious and not. We have a basal pattern, each of us, which oscillates in two directions: towards thought and towards feeling. Thought being mathematical and feeling being not. I wish to replicate this disintegration and reintegration of consciousness in word. Between mathematical proof and impressionism, the continuum all of us surely live our conscious life on. The problem is simply becoming better at writing.....Someday I will definitely write something I am proud of in this style, incorporating realizations in neurological studies will be necessary. How do I start? I think consciousness is a metaphor for the binary between math and subjectivity.....