Former home of the compassionate telepath
9.11.2006,14:11
it always *seems* like something
but it's actually always the same thing. different shapes. hidden shadows. lines on the page, writing on the wall. does it matter what we think we're doing? what path we think we follow? criss crossing lines that lead to the same place anyway. it's an intangible mystery till we get there - and there was actually here all along. like the tune to a forgotten song, or the thing we should have said, just beyond the reach of mind or articulation. somewhere buried in the circuitry we can't access.
i can't bring myself to believe in fate, but it's not up to me. that's all.
