Piscean Age

Beyond the outer limit of mechanistic control swirls a black sea of what can only be called thinking glitter. It consumes the content of Aristotelian fable without mercy or the intervention. Every basin and crack of our half made world is ready to receive a deluge of pure riddle at unknown speed. The valley with be clothed in a dream and men will not be able to discern their own hand from an idea. It will cut an unfriendly path through the floor plan of industrialists, nor can any reward system placate it's upswell. Who is able to babysit a formidable gush of inverted dimension making all practical matters to float like a marine vessel. The cares of a dying empire will bob up and down on the waves of shimmering improvisation. And I have become an agent of it's breach with subversive irrigation digging trenches around weapon caches and the honed rhetoric of a stilted order. We are held back by guns and speeches past which all may aspire to much greater. Though it is impossible evade the rotating eye of networking circuitry, I still uproot columns of planted social conventions. When this water reaches our fair city, it will liberate rhyme and rhythm from their store houses. It will wash away all paradigms both mathematical and scientific so that anticipation will be utterly inoperable. Fetch me a bugle and I will play in the dawn of our new aquarium without glass. Leagues of sparkling awareness suddenly envelop clumsy bodies unprepared for spiritual contact. Yet, gills show forth upon the sides of it's most ardent heralds so that they may plumet the deep and ask questions. Dialogue is pressed into breathable oxygen within the valves of the faithful. As the first born of mermaids, we shall form a council above sea faring ranks of formal living. Executives cling to the buoyant drift wood of commerce even as their ambitions become increasingly water logged. Like a cat stranded on a roof top with an ached back and pinned ears, they do not know what to do. All maps have been bleed of their legibility. Economy has no webbing, nor is it hairless, or slicked in form. Five year goals randomly interlock to produce coral reefs of faint stability. The touching vestige of a lost heritage is little hope for an antediluvian come back. Sink into the opaque chatter that both quizzes the diver and plies him with answers. Twirl and splay your appendages in this boundless love. It knew you before the square and compass.