Teetering on the edge of a vast unknown
on an ocean of somethingness or eternal bliss
Yawning abyss
A scrap of wood, floating
Remnant of a once mighty ship
Crumbling vestige, hang on for dear life
These are the last days; we meld into the sun’s rays
Forever changing, speeding faster to another plane
Falling, oh, falling through
Watch me sink into you
In November of the year before last, an astrophysicist, Alexander F. Mayer, released a completed version of his book, On the Geometry of Time in Physics and Cosmology. His theory ends paradoxes related to the Big Bang and the inflationary picture by revealing a geometrical picture of special relativity, and unifies the strong nuclear force with the force of gravity.
Death. It never really struck me that I would one day have a funeral. That I would be in a casket with friends and loved ones looking at me, with smelly, caked up, makeup on my face and a suit with the back cut to shreds with my ass resting gently on the silk lined casket. I have George Carlin of all people to blame for this revelation.
I dreamed: I break through brush and emerge on the field beside my elementary school feeling the distant future all around. In the distance there is a large, bizarre structure that is vertically striped from end to end, shaped in the outline of a mountain range. A voice says to me, “All time is now,” and I can feel and hear the people of the future, and the future’s ecstasies.
"Banish the word 'struggle' from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
We are the ones we have been waiting for." — Hopi elders
