Outrageous Raves

Without partisan doubt the opposite of bliss could be hate, for bliss blinds dyspeptic, double-binds synaptic and fast-fades ephemeral, as if it too soon had never been. Hate broods and breeds festers and feeds on past angry memories fading forward future fears of empty echoing hot flowing paranoia feasting on should have beens, could have becomes, if not for ruinous mortality. In life's end, defeat, in our beginning, terror of relentless trauma. Fearing the opposite of my bliss could be your rage, blindingly synaptic, fading back to slow-burning distrust of animal life's long-suffering challenges, anthro on anthro. I don't recall rage against the weather, or mosquitoes, or even swarming bees. Rage, contrasted to more generic angry fear-filled panic, overpowers Earth's most triumphal terrors then fades back as if it had never been any more than hyperactive mistrust, bad faith unsafely harbored in swarming seas of dissonant stress. Blissful rave through hateful rage, Earth's vast embodied stage for feelings flowing like light and fading dark clouds before sun and star light's constant witness, waiting for Earth's multiculturing humane tribes to learn full-octaved harmonics like preverbal infants learning which operatic brights bring bliss, which bring rage, and what will outrageously radical raves feel like to timelessly sustain, living full-stretched crown and root systemic MotherTree resonance.