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eve's avatar

Once again you connect dots brilliantly. Connect them to decimals. Pixels. Pistons. The apparatus writ large of a nomadic bent in the human psyche that has lost its native compass, so stuck in place. So it has to constantly move in circles rather than spirals—spirals of fingertips, nautilus shells, the milk of our way. A golden ratio borne of earthkind. So oft overlooked. Still, the buds in the northern hemisphere are breaking through their winter slumber spiraling ever so slowly out toward the sun. Showing us, teaching us, about cycles that don't, can't, repeat. Just come back round ever new. Harbingers of this living world awaiting our seeing. Perchance our remembering.

Taaj's avatar

This is worrisome to say the least. I recently finished listening to Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower, and reality is closely approaching Butler's dystopian fantasy...no one could afford gas in it.

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