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  • The sky was there again today. Endless blue swiped with ethereal, puffy white beaches, surrounded me like my mother's loving arms. The sun, like her heart, shining like an ocean. Yet, I know the sky, like her, is fragile and fleeting. My brevity stricken life is a shimmeringly blessed sliver of time.

    Time, that silent and deafening howl, raveling or unraveling. Maybe the Mayans are onto something. Maybe we were given these 5000 years to accomplish something. World Peace? Sustainable Societies? The ability to save ourselves from inevitable decimation? Maybe, soon, cataclysm will, in fact, render all this energy consuming squabbling that comprises modern reality trivial. Then, clinging to salvation, all the reasons for war maybe will be forgotten. Or maybe not.

    Instead, perhaps, that looming day will come and go, like all the other looming days. The night will rage with grotesque celebrations. The subconscious suicidal tendencies of a generation pulsating out to the pumping electronic rhythms. Drugs will course through innocent veins. Savages, as in all end of days, will have their brutal way, and cast aside victims to linger like ghosts into the unpredicted dawn. A new year will come and sins will seem purged and the future will seem brighter and nothing will have changed.

    Only now the machine will run clean. The grinding of the gears will be even more muted by the phantasm of possibility. Glittering technologies will force the yoke upon the throats of the young. New champions of freedom will buckle under the weight of needless information transfused into a collective mind. Captivated like zombies, the herd will stampede on, devouring our only home, this asylum run by the mad.

    We mares & stallions who flee the track and trace our own path have ever run and our footfalls are the echoes of the tides and our pace spins the globe on its axis and when this world runs its course our gallop will return us to the pastures of the stars and we will once more feel the cool, tranquil truth of the streams of galaxies upon our so long parched lips and we will at last be refreshed.
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