How grand it is to last alone in the dark shallows and cry at nothing. To feel heaviness over an ounce, a penny. How exhilarating! Isn’t it invigorating, how our minds can deceive us, fill us? A creature of the human species can feel nothing over a cut or a scrape, over the active destruction of their own selves, or they can feel the whole world crumble beneath their feet at a dream, at a song, at a painting. They can cry themselves to sleep over a digital recording of the sounds emanating from the vocal cords of another of their species. Or even over silence! But, as we know, silence is never really silence. Silence is the weight of being, the sheer heaviness of existing. Silence is a thought, a swirl. Silence is vertigo. And how beautiful that it is. Because, well, what if it weren’t? What if silence were just emptiness? There is nothing worse than the vacuum of space for those who choose to live.

The advantage of organicity is the fullness of our complexity. There are no holes in our program, as there might be in an android, or a robot. Humans have developed incredible efficiency at existing, for the structure of their biology. They are capable of thinking without thinking. Of understanding without knowing. Formed by a constant forward push to survive, to progress, their cognitive cogs turn, even in their sleep, even in their dreams.

The worst thing for the living to do is to kill part of themselves. But it happens, all the time–and you know it, too. You see people push down their own ambitions, their own visions of happiness, their own creativity, so that they can fulfill the definition of success in the eyes of their family, friends, even strangers! People choose, actively, to live passively. And it’s no wonder they do; life is hard, life is a struggle! It’s so easy to submit to a standard of a lesser species, to live less than fully, as long as it’s a comfortable emptiness. This I say to you: don’t do this! All the time, you see religious people substitute the glory and the beauty of nature with fantasy and mysticism, defying their own rational capacities. You see others who ridicule intellect as if the purpose of the human species were to reverse evolution and return to the primordial ooze. But you know, as I do, we are better than this!

Optimism is not a fool’s errand, it is the way we go on living. And to those who find optimism difficult, I say this: look around you! We are the most advanced species of our knowledge in this universe, and we are surrounded by nothing but beauty. Listen to a symphony! Look at how the colors in the sky change at dawn, at the sun as it rises over the horizon! Walk through a field of lilies, and you will see; there is nothing to be afraid of, there is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you live as if nothing mattered but the fullness, the intensity, the passion of your own being. We are human, but firstly, we are alive.

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Life is not an accumulation of things; it’s a release of things. It’s an explosion, a light, a fire.

We don’t hold on to the things we keep–we exist among them. We live for life and life alone. For the sheer, beautiful energy of it all.

That’s all I wanted to say.

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nudism
is better than
prudism
fourteen hours waiting for the sun

gelatinous waves of
sand and
pandas, footloose and
fearless

tick tock, nine o’clock
time for work and play
moments arisen
lifted, sinned

oh, beautiful for
spacious.

where! are! my onion! rings?
deep-fried, golden brown
what! are! my wedding! vows?
too much
too little
too

origami organisms orgasmed while

the wanderer wondered,
“where is my teapot?”

and we replied,
crisply,
warmly,
“what teapot?”

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