Featured art by Ralph Horsley. Click title image to visit his studio.

 

 

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The Presets “Aeons”

 

 

 

 

Time is fluid. And we damn well knew it.
Not entirely sure how it works or exactly how we do it.
But this connection we share defies time space and logic.
Tears a hole in the continuum and leaps straight through it.

 

We’re talking all the way back to the very dawn of our creation.
First light of civilization and how’s that for flock migration?
That’s some severe magnetization and a fair old way beyond linear equation.
Better yet, we appear to have acquired the precise method for transportation.

 

Knew there was a reason why our minds have resorted to racing while our souls have been far more adept at playing things patient.
Biding their time until reinstallation and even then there’s the small matter of quantum navigation.

 

This time travel business can prove mighty vexatious should you question the course and enforce limitations.
Stationery we may have been but grand expectations were statutory.
The hope that we were part of a much larger configuration.
But somewhere down the line this became lost in translation.

 

There appeared a host of potential complications to the process of dual-pronged automation.
And we knew we couldn’t hope to boast any kind of true elevation through the implication of wasteful man-made methods such as moderation.
To aspire to stoke this fire would require a higher state of consciousness.
One more in tune with acceleration, transcendental of the elemental, as nature’s way ain’t the only way.
Not once the universe has its say.

 

It was here we could raise our A-game, here where our particles could become finished articles.
By skipping the trip wire of aimless administration, we moved from perusal to fusion with not a half beat of hesitation.
Our tireless dedication then paid dividends, giving rhythm to discordance, thus endorsing this modification.

 

By coupling each node we coded, we began to remaster each laceration, and it then occurred the spoken word may have been mere simulation.
Should we trust the earth’s rotation or call it moving violation?
With information overloading, along came the realization that we had spent our entire lifetimes chasing rainbows we could make ourselves.
No longer obligated to this tasteless medication, we wasted no haste in replacing its stagnated embrace with one far less debilitating.

 

As we waltzed through the generations in a grand ballroom most spacious, uncontested by prerequisite for listless litigation, we cracked this stubborn combination, hacking straight into the mainframe, And backing up.

 

With equilibrium now stabilized, this high wire act could now walk the line, and this stable cable enabled us to refine our design to Crystalline.
No longer paralyzed by lies, our grateful eyes reengaged our minds.
Said minds then duly explained to our hearts that they would now be beating on double time.

 

Enter the soul cages.
As these rusted containers no longer retained the true essence within and refrained from making waves as they unchained them.

 

With the power symmetrically vested and each imperfection reflectively perfected, we unapologetically elected to bend our genetics to the best fit.
And, with that, every strand of our DNA exclaimed its feverish blessing.

 

Two lost souls had been found and most profound was that they now had grounds to pronounce any boundaries insubstantial and promptly denounce them.
No limits or ceiling.
Ten senses. Each revealing another paradox to outfox, another puzzle piece to set in place.
Another sound reason to cease giving blind chase to rainbows and get around to making some.
No degrees of separation.
Just a blank canvas to paint on.
The fluid of time to paint with.
And aeons for our crayons.

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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