Some always make it through, their tones take them through, debriefed, incorporated, going out along side us as collectors or seeders, the balance to entropy, people, creation, ideas, tones
We all want to hear the song, see the new world as it blooms out. That’s why we take the pain, volunteer to dive again into the mist of confusion, risk devolving. Some have, some stay on the rim, lost. I wonder about them, why would they let the tether slip away, I guess they just forgot.
Walking once again with Ran, thinking about tomorrow and reporting to the Moog. It’s good to be back, be out… what hell no clear memory is. Even as a collector it takes it’s toll, threatening to drain the light out of you, there are causalities, but no living is risk free.
Later we talk about what we saw, the numbers passing through, the many lost to entropy.
The thousand years of living, as growers, as parents, as collectors, Me and Ran, our eyes connected, our thoughts traveling the current between us, learning each other in the purplish black of the room