Colors of the Wash, in Four Parts

[ 1. ]

Okay. I’ll give it to you the best way I can.
First, there was the blue wash, and all things go home.
Second, there was the green wash, and the echo flashes naked.
And last, but not least, there was the brown wash, for something, somewhere.

[ 2. ]

So first, the blue wash.
Blue wash, and all things go home.
Not happy. Not sad.
Powers and concepts along the way.
Like fire burning at the bottom of the ocean. Life presence reflected
simultaneously, as in yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Forever. Always, and in
all ways.
And then suddenly, without warning
computer lights flashing across domains of the unknown. Flash fires of ecstasy.
Hypercybernetic, cybervoodoo. The epistemology of impossible possibilities,
the metaphysics of dangerous visions.
All circuits shapeshifted.
And all things in the blue wash
go home. So soft, so beautiful.
Under this canopy
as existence would have it
artistic reverberations and the cosmic jello box.
Just like we were told.
Symmetry, affinity, and vision.
Always something more for notes along the way. Always.
We learn. We know.
History, at its most surface levels, is a projection of poetry in the mud.
But below, is the blue wash …..

[ 3. ]

Secondly, the green wash.
Green wash, and the echo flashes naked.
Future fire, stargate metasymphony. I just have to say it: unimaginable
imagination for an occult supernova, which is a forward metaphor way
beyond the rpesent leading edge.
We sense here an occult fire in the imagination. A web and weave in
subjective waters and the balance of dreams. Something, for everyone.
All flesh beautiful.
All flesh sacred.
And no flesh denied. Revolutionary, evolutionary, transformational.

[ 4. ]

As promised, last but not least.
The brown wash.
The brown wash, for something, somewhere.
A celebration of form, content, and information potential. The sparkles amplify
the undercurrents. Empowerment laced mysterium gold into the continuum.
The silence of the moment. This moment, the next, it is all way too beautiful. It is
like, in a very small way, a shining of light on the void. Like the brown wash,
something and somewhere.
How I love what is said without it being said.
How I love the magick of these days.

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