Geometric Allegory

A MESSAGE (as it appeared, no edits) __________________________________________________________ presence for I am the lord and I speak as the vessel and the instrument in the sinner who I've chosen.  i am the holy ghost and I have touched the man who is chosen to carry the flame. I am the voice that reminds you that for every penny you've proffited, you will pay a thousand times in an eternal debt. i call out the jews and the sages and the alchemists. you are chosen too. for this curse is ours and ours alone, and you are in judgement with the rest.  you, the supposed mother cut from the hand of God who offers trinkets now in this hour of lament, search with your eyes into the despair you have caused and weep bitterly for the harvest that surely is your own.  you jews who profited and made your living off of the word of the father, weap at the place where you have led us. for surely moses will weep for you.  ghosts of the spectre who haunt these realms, marvel in the miracl

Shut the f*ck up.  What?  Huh?  I said shut the f*ck up.  No.  That’s not how it goes.  So how does it go?  It goes  Yeah  Yeah…  She loves you…  Yeah yeah  Yeah.  Baby.  Baby.  Love me.  Love me.  Do Sugar t*ts  Love me  FRAME:  He balls his fist and swings it from up high. Like the descendent arc of a lunar orbit, He hammers it down onto her face.  She would have ducked, but  The knuckles split her lip and cracked the eye-tooth  Before she could even shudder to think How much money it would cost to get this fixed. She spat drizzled blood-lumps before even registering pain  As the radio played  Baby baby  Lover  I’m gonna  Love you  She loves you  Yeah  Yeah  Yeah  MEANWHILE: the dung-beetles carry these moments on heavy shoulders  And bring them deep down to them dead guys, that get burried  in those toons all...     She loves you.  And the Egyptian F*CK YOU mother f*cker  Smiles and says  F*CK YOU  And f*ck  You  You  You!  He swings back and hammers. Turn it up  Radio songs transmi

A quantum search is entirely different  In that a list of possible outcomes is generated  Based on what actually exists  and  what doesn't exist;  That is, any outcome is presented as equally possible.  Now enter into this selection of possibilities  Statistics and probability--  "What is the likelihood of the search and all of the quantum possibilities"--  Then answer, "It is most likely correct..."  "Statistically we can figure this out."  And let us not forget the role of chaos!  Amid all of the randomness,  We can actually find two points to establish a pattern.  Perhaps not the right pattern,  But a pattern nonetheless.  To what extent might human beings be  Part of God's search engine?  Perhaps we spend our lives finding answers  To posed questions. We exist at birth and from there  Retain some semblance of consciousness  As we collect memories and experiences in this place. And in the end, do we return  From our quest with part of an answer?

I heard the name God  In passing today. It surfaced  singular,  Up from the background  In a steady blur of conversation. "God." When I heard God,  I immediately thought of a magician.   That's what I automatically do: I envision A magician standing on a stage.    Is that strange? No matter the context —    Be it at a wedding,   A funeral,  In church Or on TV... Or even, as I've said,  As a single word overheard in a conversation— When I hear the name God I see God the Great There on the stage.  His suit fits him nicely, And atop H is head, A black velvet stovetop hat Blends into his thick, slicked-back hair. (As is custom, he pulls me from his hat, But not yet... Or not today) He wears a  flowing cape, too; It matches his black shoes, And his mustache, waxed,  Points like a tuning fork. I'm drawn to his dark, dimpled cheeks, And I swoon in the scent of his cologne. It smells of  Honey-t