Geometry will never be straight and to the point.
If ever the reality strikes us it will be as a release from our stunted affliction. There is no end, no beginning and nor ended.
The least and last things we regard are most likely the greatest flight of our realization. However we ignore them in a ritualized phasing of obstraction.
Pay attention. These are our gates in and out. These are the deliberately cheapened, debased stressing of reality that we are guided to ignore by suicidal infanticide clinics and terminal nursing.
The smoked pall will fill our lungs and choke our future lives in thrall. The piling ash will kill our dead under a dread sun.
All life will test our reality through the labour of our mercy.
Whether gone, presented, to come or killed.
Psychokillers think we are planted out of place. Weeds. No.
We spoil their redundant ancient rarified, hi maintenance, slaving geometry.
Go seed and propagate.
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