Writing

All people have mysteries they hide, enchanted forests with secrets buried deep, the roots of hardened trees that fall only once they have long since ceased to live.

In the midst of randomness, signal becomes noise, noise signal, and meaning disintegrates.

If you are reading this, you are probably not a cat, and if you are not a cat then maybe curiosity will not kill you.

Time marches not into the future, as if it were a foot soldier on its way to stations known. Time rather meanders into the infinite, a casual explorer in the expansiveness of the limitless, dressed not in military grays but the blue grandeur of multidimensionality.

Most workaday people don’t have lawyers on retainer.

The brain follows the body.

The marrow in an animal’s bones matters more than the minutiae of its hide.

You can read haikus about haikus, anything about everything.

The prism of memory illuminates the randomness of the past with increasing sequentiality and color the closer one comes to darkness.

Progress is like the curvature of the earth, subtle but certain, unless we erase the horizon by destroying the world.