Bowrapiquis Jetseen/StarLog 1
In the skylights was exposed but not overtaken. What was to be done was a quest. A new quest that never going to go in the history books because this quest was for the universe's history. It was to be a kind of mythos of life and death but
Sitting on the promenade watching waiting. Nothing is changed nothing new with no way to know why? They had put the new chemical into the ventilation systems but it did nothing. The peacefulness of a chemically controlled society will leave no stone upturned. Even when they are fighting over having more or just being the positives time/space ways.
Piqui was in a wandering mode. -going from here to there. Moving quickly but still noticing what was what. Walking past a civilian deep in thought Piqui could feel the emotions of this individual either at rest, work, or play. The puzzle was that one of the so called civilians looked exactly like him. So that there was some kind of way about this person that made her and Piqui interlocked.
Piqui's shirt was ready to be washed but experiencing the new worlds on missions was mostly in an order that which had no true idea of how these things become to be with them... The shirt was comfortable and easy to be warn. With the fabric of this shirt which was neither hard or soft and also it held its position within the ease of life's challenges. Its texture was of a type of recreated effectual growths. And yet this red shirt was still loaded with temperament and prowess as a tiger about to pounce. As it is known officers in red die first.
What is the unknown as alas having the freedom brought by death without any ownership. Where inside or out we, you and I have little to nothing on a hold nature. It is the soil inlaid of atomic ashes and solar flairs. Where the dust of supernova’s break up the layered meanings of sedimentary problems. this layer; that layer; incredible releases of the most thought out scenario yet still new to finding meaning or any value of knowledge datum's inside infinite space.
Sequence one: radical matted boxes, on the inside they are as lush and sensual to touch, with endless flavors. They are conjured and spread across infinite space.
Sequence two: boxes, of any kind, get left at the curb as a positive gesture breaks the boredom in ritualized divinated parts. Cry’s of love,.. serious happiness.. make them see the light, but there is no light there never was anything we can call positive energy.
A mere length and kindness as in a new forced meaning so true but unreal But nothing would of escaped and they just move along blindly failing in the misty dew. Grasping on the edge of realities. how is everything changed? why is there nothing left out. I surpassed the cry's of life’s end. No, there can be no new freedom in death, only found food in the crevices of the metered prose.
But if we eat the data, meaning we absorb it, when did the experiential stream of data flows break down? Leaving “what is and what is not.” The dataflow systems are synchronized by time without a doubt such that none will know why.
This is the picture of equal value within point to point precision and a cost analysis that this leaves nothing to chance. But it is “this chance” itself that is on trial, as we trap the life out of life. Most sources agree.., there is not one other thing to do but encourage the growth of life everywhere. Initial resourced ideas have no known way to be harvested outside the machine that birthed the idea first. (maybe)