Antimatrix

Eye in the sky screams "dreams are not reality;" yet it flies impossibly on whirling bionic wings. "the force is a fantasy," laughs the big screen; yet it motions this ironically through ionic streams. "No power in an evergreen," shrills the factory; cutting from the same cloth that had allowed us to breathe. "That vision? A symptom of insanity;" suggests the PHD, and recommends fixing something so deeply rooted by consuming this repeatedly; denying this notion is the very definition of what you suppose we carry. "But don't you want to bee with everybody?" Whisper the walls and empty streets. Could it be that everything is simultaneously, as stone lock and river key? Would it seem that all we need to coax the dread of uncertainty, is to each weave threads of teachings, unique? Bound with an understanding sure as gravity, until we are warm in the cold of infinity, in a quilt of minds set free.