You Can Think About The Universe

But can the universe think about you? You could believe that it thinks nothing about you, that it doesn’t recognize you.

But you must remember that from the beginning of this universe, and all the universes it contains, you specifically, precisely, were brought into existence, every atom is arranged in just such a way as to become exactly your personality and your freckles and your secret dreams, everything all at once, for all time in all directions, is connected.

It’s not the universe which doesn’t see you… it’s you. Better recognize. Look in the mirror. And by that I mean look around. You’re everywhere! You’re a superstar, a supernova, you’re blowing up! You can be seen across time and space, expanding, growing up.

You’re a star, you’re the Sun. Sol. Soul.

There’s a whole solar system around you. A speck of dust in your orbit has life bursting forth from cracks in the thin film of dried rock. What that life thinks of you, if it worships you, if it hides itself from your explosive integrity, it doesn’t matter to you. You’re not aware of it, not the way that life is aware of you.

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Why search for meaning?

We live in meaning

Surrounding us but not beyond

Calcified Krystle’s bathtub rings

Autocorrected my crystals

to a possessive feminine

Authority entitled to everything

Whatever it meant to me

The truth of what I see

Shares held space with

The truth of what you see

Locality and layering

Coats of paint are not a building

The foundation equality of being

Residue of everything true

The purpose of man is two:

Make more of you.

What is left of life

What did you do

It is like something

To be the crust

The husk of trust

The skin of the pudding

Herniated disks exploding

The relativistic speed of us

At the edge about to pop

Stretched to infinity

And the second thing

Is stick together

if life matters

as always or never

All the Beauty and Beasts

Take it easy, take it, ease. I live with you. In the same world as your duodenum and your vanity and the cat on your lap. Here we sit with North Korean super villains in American Splendor, a perpetual render bar progressing to singularities, regressing towards the mean, the hipster fucks and bohemian brigands, politicians and instagram following sycophants, the coalition of willingness to deceive what uncommon decency, gaslight the railroad run in wallpaper patterns with swollen social vesicles, reactionary compound chemicals. Nothing is what it seems in our alternate realities, subjective interpretation of impersonation in this our most lucid of dreams.

I want to die for you it’s just taking me awhile. You can’t rush a sacrifice, the path is suffering, the path is sorrow, the path is winding through rivers of time ever in tomorrow’s past and yesterday’s schedule, nights where you wake up screaming, dawning light from under the doorway streaming Netflix, steaming veggies in your pjs, vaporizing a heavy CBD Sativa, the Spiritual Leader, Grey Bearded Singer, Dock Hand, Sinners and Saints all the same thing, a blue dot in a sunbeam, a microscopic menagerie of wise mammalian ancestry, life on earth’s rapids river, species ripples flowing over each other in woven textures, we only look different by some small percentage, but the difference matters. It all matters. It’s all matter. 

So smoke a couple joints, think for a minute, father your strength and mother your harmony, we’re only learning, we only know by doing, writing to read our minds, encountering the new crime in novels, the friendships the heartache the tantrums and fits we throw when life chucks us a what the fuck moment and so on we go to the stars; a nonesuch never before seen Pluto, a Kuiper Belt in psychic judo straddle the event horizon as it melts into a chocolate and vanilla swirl of arms akimbo in the constellation Limbo.