"...no one knows his place in society, his class position or social status; nor does he know his fortune in the distribution of natural assets and abilities, his intelligence and strength, and the like." - John Rawls
Breathing deeply exceeding sufficient focus conditions.
Spinning on either side of me, silently combining each
element invoking implicit occult traditions. Let us seek
wisdom from Opus to Opus: molecular message peaked;
Systems controlling my hopes to get us connected to Gnosis.
The Stone is just another drop away: osmosis. The clock's display
is frozen for Time is only a constraint for those within limits of
conventional physics. Only respect for the distance between
ignorance and enlightenment. Action crafted in silent rifts.
Rawlsean veils exposed by the mystic's decree.
Restrictions: thinking linearly.
I insist: to proceed and process most efficiently
let the mental stretch with exponential logarithmic speed.
Potential bleeds from the vial, more errors in this trial
than perfect successes.
But only one needs to work to make it worth the investment.
Breathing heavily connecting each section to the next,
mixing acoustic mastery.
The music blasting free into collections of obsessed
citizens moving frantically.
Spinning on either side of me, a veneration of control...
They say the art is religious regeneration of the Soul.
Crack the wishbone: carefully extract the marrow.
Ambitions dripping acutely into industrial cauldrons.
Relax your grip though, it's the subtlest science.
The mission is truth seeking: the lushest indulgence.
the praxis is beyond just syntax and semiotics.
It's actually applying exactness when combining
enough passion to create impactful steady progress.
Enough potency to render the power in Heaven modest...
this much precision we should be worshiping.
Blending the micro-filaments with diligence in ordering.
Output various like instrumental chords from strings.
Break the plastic: fervently replace the needle.
Sufficient this mythic truth seeping love from the auspice
of ancient madness, it's a wondrous triumph.
Pythagorean spheres spinning with abundance exhausted.
Sacred neolithic scripting etched on the masks of pharaohs.
Cast the mended Arrow toward the frantic raving excitement:
Sound from the loudest of amplification devices.
Fluid from the Grand Elixir creating infinite Youth.
Drum, bass, rhythm
rhyme, flow, charisma
Coal, gold, platinum,
all that exists is the Truth.