Compose

Coming into realizations that for the first time begin to make sense,

Over the course of days where you never knew where you might finish it out,

Mayans in Manhattan, as the man said, making sense back when most of the machines ran on Fortran, but presaging this moment of unending connectivity we wade through and live through, as the experiment continues,

Primary are the numbers controlling the inputs, outflows, extraordinary experiences that lie beyond the simple everyday, each day, spilled milk and regrets,

Only through constant vigilance, everlasting conscious effort can we stay in front of the wave, particle, substrate and reagent,

Subsuming each other quickly, efficiently, without regard or reticence,

Each moment torn out of existence in the manner it was destined, tomorrow bleeding into today more easily than the barest impulse exposed.


end.rev3, 12.36 a.m.
© David Mark Speer, 16 march 2011, Brooklyn