SACKS OF GOLD
Mongolian hordes, riflemen on the
Borodinian steppes. All Central Asia
like a rifle recoils. How it happens,
no one knows - but the most simple
words re-kindle revolution. I wasn't
born this way, and there are so
very many strange things yet
yet for me to announce:
-
I can really cause harm by my thought;
time pulls its thread, steadily, through
all situations, and no matter where
we go it always been there first,
either 'just before us', or
some time ago.
-
A spirit, an angel, or even a man,
traveling through space at the
speed of light, you understand,
would be unable to see his reflection
in a mirror he held, if he held a mirror.
But why would he? Let me refute:
-
There exists a cul de sac of Reality
into which we are all shelved - seeking
Eden, seeking Hell, seeking selves. It
amounts to mere twinklings and glimmers
of things, really nothing at all - Conestoga
settlers pushing an envelope over new
western plains which exist only in their
minds. Time has beat them there. They
can see nothing at all, but their envelope
of what's real includes it, so they think
they see. Poor Mankind, they
have outrun their time.
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