-accessibility for the blind
-natural language parsing, decipherment/probability
-improving government/financial systems, transparent processes and laws
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turn things alive: animate!
perhaps the repetition of terms is not sharpening your mind. create novel stories, characters
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a strange dream of hallucinations in mirrors and an imaginary house that seems like a familiar face: stairs that wind down, a grand 2nd floor with bedrooms going north, soggy white carpet by the foot of the stairs, a room with a maroon lay-back couch, the adorned white wall partition
the familiar people seated about the house: why were they all there?
--
the blae snowflakes crumble to rice grains at their feet, voicing concerns in government. should we consign those nutrients to the soil there, or sap woodwork from the floor to taste minuscule breadths of thread dripping ink onto floorboards and whisking knives out of air - captioned lyrics in a sunday song. agonizing over wheat bread that was distributed the wrong way. we mirror what drives ourselves and suppose greed runs in the veins of the invisible hand. maybe just put our hands to work building that old tree house - promised, a nice idea, never realized. it's that soaking feeling in the morning that collapses our heart sinew into pieces that freeze up and become those blae snowflakes that drift and drift, fallen leaves in autumn until they place themselves on the ground, to vanish without support, or grow into a civilization if others follow suit. invented value - if you believe in it, it will work: the currency of snow. gathering to construct an empire out of the lonely shards scattered from the sky - only to melt into puddles by time. a meager earning of purity sapping out wonders of spoken parses, tongues tickling at the frozen sharp edges wanting to be cut, the flow of sucre fattening the artist's whim as he tries to search for construction, not destruction, of worlds in the head. not enough - can't explode out the nightingale that swoops about in my head; can't find prey to dive for, in those lonely woods.
--
a strange dream of hallucinations in mirrors and an imaginary house that seems like a familiar face: stairs that wind down, a grand 2nd floor with bedrooms going north, soggy white carpet by the foot of the stairs, a room with a maroon lay-back couch, the adorned white wall partition
the familiar people seated about the house: why were they all there?
--
the blae snowflakes crumble to rice grains at their feet, voicing concerns in government. should we consign those nutrients to the soil there, or sap woodwork from the floor to taste minuscule breadths of thread dripping ink onto floorboards and whisking knives out of air - captioned lyrics in a sunday song. agonizing over wheat bread that was distributed the wrong way. we mirror what drives ourselves and suppose greed runs in the veins of the invisible hand. maybe just put our hands to work building that old tree house - promised, a nice idea, never realized. it's that soaking feeling in the morning that collapses our heart sinew into pieces that freeze up and become those blae snowflakes that drift and drift, fallen leaves in autumn until they place themselves on the ground, to vanish without support, or grow into a civilization if others follow suit. invented value - if you believe in it, it will work: the currency of snow. gathering to construct an empire out of the lonely shards scattered from the sky - only to melt into puddles by time. a meager earning of purity sapping out wonders of spoken parses, tongues tickling at the frozen sharp edges wanting to be cut, the flow of sucre fattening the artist's whim as he tries to search for construction, not destruction, of worlds in the head. not enough - can't explode out the nightingale that swoops about in my head; can't find prey to dive for, in those lonely woods.
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