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So here's a moment in perfection, imperfectly divine... ...And as Promised, a thought in the wee hours of the night: an architect who deconstructs the universe to construct love, always questing to extract pure elixir from eternity of one -- it's nuclear and subatomic. Which gives me an idea:   Syntax -- k 'nuf said! Anyhow, WOW!:

A very long time ago an old friend stood at a precipice and faced demons and angels. There he witnessed both folly and glory crafted by man’s devise… He realized that at the end of civilization’s sad and self-absorbed twists, where culture and artifice dissolve, there’s a chasm -- no more shelters, no more delusions, no more lullabies… And so, he sacrificed himself by becoming a fiery roar in the heart of darkness… Every star, every molecule, every atom reflected his face -- his laughter, his frown, his sadness and joy shaped the universe… As he fell to his death, he was reborn as truth.  Trees and blades of grass, and a thousand songs became his legacy; clouds traced his breath, and winds soughing through unsung mountain ranges and deserts became his melody… He could no longer hide from himself… At that moment, on the tele, they were talking about war veterans returning home with PTS, another election giving hope to an embattled people, a child rescued from a burning house, the stock market crash, collapse of the mortgage industry… Outside an elderly woman was sleeping on a cold stone bench as a black town car pulled up and received a tired industrialist.  The car drove through a curtain of vapor as the street sweeper was brushing debris past the steam vent, his shadow projecting upward like a wavering giant moralist cleansing the dormant city off its ails... Nana was right, work had been left undone, and a father’s sins needed to be healed.  And so  it was that my friend's journey had finally begun… -IAT

Dearest You: A funny little word this word Truth... Where does it begin and where does it end?  In a fractured world of lost fragmented souls searching for their broken reflections, where does one find truth? Deluded, you drift aimlessly through the streets at night chasing damn ghosts and shells; a fix here, a chance there, a jab, a blow here, they all amount to the same hunger for re-ligio, don't they? So you lie and cheat, and grovel and leave your signature in the fabric of Universe for all eternity; and you weave your own demons, a web, a tapestry of deceit to enshroud you, all the while you search for the one truth. Isn't it ironic though? that you seek light with lies?  No wonder all you find are shadows and fright. -Your Friend, IAT

“So I thought about what you said earlier… and it reminded me of Uncreated Light.” “I haven’t read it.” “Oh but you should…,” he smiled knowingly. “It’s the sourcebook for iconography.” “Did you check the fruit – “You mean at the mouth of the rabbit hole, the serpent and the fruit?” “Yes.” “Goodness, what treacherous path you lead me to…” “…there’s a book, the title escapes me… -- no wait! Quarantine! You must read it!,” I insisted. “It’s about passion – “Oh boy, I can tell you about passion, about lust…” “No, you don’t understand.  Beyond flesh, beyond matter, deeper than you can imagine is a passionate love affair with the Universe, when you can understand the vibrant language of the One Verse – it’s hidden in plain sight, isn’t it – “The Rabbit Hole again?” “Always, the little death, or whatever else you must call it, it’s time to deconstruct in order to reconstruct, and why construct, why exist in the duality of the matrix, perhaps… but imagination is a distraction isn’t it?  It deludes by fabricating tantalizing cerebral voyages that issue forth into the fabric and bleed into a world of patterns, random pattern recognition so that you can design the sign – “That’s real good, a clincher, design the sign, you should rap with that one!” “Nothing left but derisions?” “I was enjoying the intersection of verse and truth, the One Verse did you call it?” “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you…?” “Yes, only choices, right?” I sighed with relief, “yes, only choices, a string of pearls from the depths of the blind see, or a noose made of barbed verse – what on earth, choices to do what?  Play the F’n game – morbid vicarious voyeurs of pain, sadistic isn’t it? “No, illuminated parcels of light, you fool, symphony of divinity, each choice a note in a grand orchestra , symphony, no, no, infinite vibrancy! Each choice a note, a mark, a sign in the design….  All these worlds belong to you….  All your choices define the world, the face of god is constructed every and each moment by what you choose –all gods and one, my god, your god, the  state of flux, constantly shifting form, form without form, so you sea your own face, you drown in yourself, my god, my God, G-d, have you, are you unable to love without destruction, am I your consciousness, out of nothing you have fathomed me, I am you, a quantum beauty – no, damn it, that is passion – you speak of passion? Lust?  What collection of molecular dystrophy ever compares with… but then again… if flesh is animated with illuminated fire… …” “I’ll be late…” “Yes, drive safely, won’t you?” He looked back, smiling, frightened, emboldened, broken, and other things all at once… -Iliad Alexnder Terra, 0400 hours, earth orbit, advent horizon third axial shift

4 AM, I'm thinking of you three fools, WTF?!!!   Have a wonderful day of Thanks...  Even though I don't get it, I will summon my sheer suspension of disbelief and celebrate by ingesting the carcass of another, disintegrate its nuclear syntax so that my organism may proceed forth.  It repeats the cycle ad infinitum...  Culture has indeed become as stale as sliced bread on a shelf -- affected and broken like a gouged-eyed hollow plastic doll staring at the memory of the little girl who had once played with it when it was pretty and new, out of the box...  Aeons have since gone by.  Now dolphins roam where man had once been king. -IAT