YE OLD WINTER

Now we are embedded into an accelerated climate shifting, a kind of indecisiveness which roils our own little life barrels towards horizons never 'seen', much less felt than our own usual fare;

Supremacy has always been an untenable position, much less an option to the universe of chaos which has been kindly supporting our own babyish googlings;

Yet we all cling to a kind of dreamish mess, a kind of warrior's syndrome or should I call it for what it is, a klingonish trauma, a death wish clothed into an old samourai myth, no longer available for its culture is long gone;

However, we all are skidding along the long sword, never feeling the surgical cutting now peeling each of us into so many micro slices, that we are in fact gone out this life's window of opportunity, merely shadows dancing upon the nice flat side of the blade, either side being as impeccably the ultimate brother, each the support of one deadly sharp edge;

Still we all dream of 'gaming' this edge, turning it into a money...