Beatnik Poetry metaphysics hobo electricians
Sunday Morning prayers
Classic Sean and Jedidiah bullshit. It’s prime.
Check out Sean’s podcast ! And his poem
https://open.spotify.com/episode/2uqWpxhbM9RwneoquzWe6p?si=adbm72WDStyG1fYKjirHJQ
God's game is always in session but very few people are playing the field.
Fear is like a great fuzz eluding us to the importance of our being true action
God is on a need-to-know basis. What does he need to know and now.
What's next
God's embodied truth is not comfortable. No one would truly want to be like him.
Stronger than steel, rubber like Oak death.
Atlas holds the world every Leslie in marble. His face turning to the next mood imperceptibly
The only interest is greater truth. But we know the truth does not expand oh, it just distills!
Black is beautiful! Light is too! No one, you must know the other. But how deeply does the I burn? How black hasn't gone? How deep do we care to go into our own yin and yang spiral?
Like an impulse, God drops the beat. Greatly planned, long in advance, that bass you mentioned before it starts soft, and its residents, it's deep and profound Powers far beyond all expectation. And it reaches into silence before we hear that soft beginning again.
