Manifesto of Exile.
Mechanisms of evolution do not understand the priorities.
Interwoven the mistakes of lineage has lead to the collapse of clean water. Flooding. Liberty and Sanity filtering in and out from the drops left behind by clouds. Sanity defined as stability and the idea of insanity thrown to be haunting. This defined line that does not accept the times of mental illness. Straining correspondence the insights of ancient Sun disregarded. And where is the liberty of cotton candy when it is struggling in the cycling metal ways. Straggling only to melt in nonlyrical mouths. Principles are not touched by the ocean wind. Mutation. Genetic drift. The population forcing natural selection into society. Privilege will remain when systems vividly reflect the unbalanced waves between classes.
The invention of the compass suggesting the ways of West, and yet there is no understanding of North, West, East, South to the ocean. No understanding between these imaginary limitations of the crooked stained fence between Tijuana and San Diego. The ocean pushing irritation against the wooden drift. Exceeding into isolation. Distance. Friction. Exhaustion. Digestion. Does the broken wood believe in isolation as a form of loneliness? Or does it maintain the idea of Exile as a leading path to solitude?
Exile has not occurred just now. Exile has existed since those three fingers of theory said they could lift an afternoon. Exile in the frontier of the horizon has been removed from Clear Light. The separate lands that overflow, tall yellow, green meadows, and the near-death experiences in the rush of swollen blue. Shed further from light. Reflection of own mind, recognition of liberation finding places nowhere. The existence Earth maintains has been due to violations of antidote. The established prediction is unfolding the Nonexistent antidote to this evolving pandemic is a decision away from intellect. wander in vastness, in the visible pure celestial eyes of a water spider recovering solitude. In Exile it all returns or turns away from solitude. In Exile the resembling former body, the former body of flesh, the former body of blood, the former body of illusion will recognize the injuries inside voidness. These windows into solitude, a Nothingness meditating, disregarding lives. Where are the replicating liberties in impermanence? And what type of return policy does God have? What kind of power does one need to return the returning inclinations?
The Cicada and its drum-like organs in 17 or 13 years will land on a tree. Shedding its exoskeleton between this solitude and that solitude. The extreme differences in How To Stay Alive remain as a sunset does not pretend it can not see the stars even after it is gone.
Break this Exile into half, into thirds, into fourths, break this Exile. The clouds will change the being away from the decisions of this mess. And when it all returns to the solitude of the past the wandering eyes of a pelican will follow the depths of ocean without a compass.