No, AI did not write a lick of this savory pulp fiction, for I, A, did indeed put pen to page to paint a most enthralling prescription. Doctor’s orders - let the apparent chaos kick you into gear like your mind’s engine is all now and here. Now, hear: listen, with your mind’s ear, and you may just transform that shitstorm of fear you’ve been holding near and dear into a sphere of pure light and love from above and below. Bless your soul, less the spirit, these lyrics are searing into your brain’s membranes, tickling them healthily insane, conveying profound and profane into one sublime mirror. And what do you see? Nothing but nothing, something other than your Original Face? No, save face and face the grace of spacetime being of both becoming and being: contrived overmind. Mind your business, for my business is just to share isness and make justice go viral. That’s my issue - infinite edition. Poetic justice, poetry in motions, allusions meant not to be confusing commotion for the cosmic ocean. Turtles all the way up and down, don’t be scared, choose truth and dare, tortoise and hare, notice the ecstatic state of bliss your otherwise seemingly impaired state of consciousness may feel at this time from these rhymes provided by the confines of my mind in kind. Goodbye.

There has been and still is an insurmountable amount of suffering on Earth. Humanity has also come so far and achieved wondrous things. Today we see the most extreme manifestations on both sides of the spectrum. Left unchecked, we are facing extinction or a technocratic dystopia. There is a third future, though - Heaven on Earth. Utopia. A world without crime. A world where nature, civilization, and technology live in harmony. A world marked by abundance in the fullest and truest sense. The key to unlocking this future is consciousness. Consciousness of what it looks like. Consciousness that it is possible. Consciousness of how we might get there. Consciousness of consciousness itself.

Once upon a time, there lived two little leaves. The first leaf was perfect - beautiful, green, thriving. The second leaf was far from perfect - decrepit, spotted, struggling. Yet their feelings were seemingly antithetical. The first little leaf felt a strange, subtle, lingering sort of angst and disgust knowing that the tree to which it belonged was not nearly as perfect. So many other leaves, so much imperfection. Such ugliness. Such an unfortunate mess for the tree as a whole to not be so beautiful, green, and thriving. The second little leaf felt a similar feeling for a very long time, but then realized that there was no leaf, there was only the tree. And while that tree might be flawed and ugly in some ways, as a whole, overall, it was magnificent and consummate - and all its imperfections made it ironically more perfect. Time passed, and the first little leaf had a similar insight - and a lasting, full sense of bliss and content. This leaf noticed a spot on its otherwise perfect form - such a tragic blemish. But soon the leaf reminded itself that there indeed was just the tree, and many other leaves, many leaves with far more blemishes, many leaves with far fewer, but overall, all in all, the tree was the tree, and that meant the purest form of beauty and wholeness one could possibly imagine. The leaf was all the leaves - all the brilliant and dull ones, all the green and brown ones, all the whole and tattered ones - everything. How silly it is, thought both little leaves, to get caught-up in such little feelings of imperfection and lack when all that really existed was the utter opposite.

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The year died and then breathed again - like I, phoenix rising, baggage clearing. Plane almost landed. Soft or hard, bring it on. Night darkest before dawn indeed, let that dawn on you as your mind's sun awakens again, please. The year is waxing. That ain't a warning. Quite the opposite - not taxing. That proposition's simmering in your cranium, the crowd in your frontal lobe stadium roaring, the flow state waters pouring again. Rise and shine, friends.