Shakespeare knew the secret to inner contentment, how it only dwells in the present. All things that appear to draw us away from this contentment may only serve us as indicators to past reaction habits we resurrect to serve present events. With old eyes we see the new, shoving it with brutal boots and bayonets into some previous slot in the timeline.
In this way, the war blasts on full force, not by attack, but by counter-attack.
All there is now is counter-attack–no initiation.
Echo of the origin–pass it along, hand to hand.
Echo of death frequency: Born bleeding out from the orifices while casting blame (looking down the barrel of an extended finger) on fore-bleeders for forcing us to imitate them.
Blame begets blood.
In the silent present, the bleeding stops and is forgotten.
The echo ends and we speak mindfully from a new point of origin.
…Until then we walk the path, one BYTE at a time.
In loving service,
Mordon [+]
BYTES 