a bunch of zeros

Is it that the non-conventional becomes conventional then becomes old and is replaced and forgotten and then gains value as it becomes an antique object or idea? Is this sequence a single generation in ideadom?

What is it that allows a sequence to happen? What’s the context of time and space and all that’s in them? Isn’t text a context to the white space around it?

Does the mystery exist behind language not caring and ever patient?

Is the greatest mystery yet to be discovered because it can only be discovered or mined individually — person by person on one’s own — and afterward unable to be passed on or delivered to others? Is this a spirituality that has to be earned by being willing to wait for it and learning how not to expect it as opposed to just asking for it?

What is the thing that can get one started on this ultimate adventure? Is it that the most sophisticated dream has to begin to suspect that it’s a dream?

Am I a dream that dreams itself? A dream that’s real but still a dream? Am I like a bunch of zeros and ones on my hard drive and actually take up no actual room at all?



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