Lucas German

The terrible trouble is that I run free in my mind, where a drifting slumberous thought turns material for a moment and the reality to my perceptions presents me with the fact of you, and I feel the joy.
...

I love you, so beautiful and new with eyes that share hue with the clear afternoon blue sky; you are infinitely high, unreachably unimpeachably the apple of my hottest fruit pie.
...

An idea forms like fractures in glass; every branch adds to the exponential total until magic blue brain mist rolls off your scalp like the fog of war, obscuring attempts at introspection.
...

It is the refracted yawning early morning dawn break as seen through a still squinting eye, weightless silken air streaming round a radiant sky,
...

Thank you to the bench on which I sit, for declining to judge and letting me enjoy it. Thank you to the bright spaces for containing so much light, for if I have an eyeball, you're what give me sight.
...

When friends meet, is it not common to share a lunch? If on a fair weather day we chance to meet on an outing, to some overlook or formation of natural beauty, would it be so unusual that I, having come to write, and you, having come to read, should resolve to carry about our separate tasks in quiet company? Who could cry afoul such mundane happenstance?
...

Good morning in all it's glory, riding as it does with sun streaming down the dew and softly across a curtain plane to helpfully awaken you. Good coffee which maybe tastes of toffee on your tongue once the early birds have sung a tune to greet you with the coming noon. Be well, rise fast, for soon the dawn shall ring it's knell and already have passed.
...

Vacuum draws every fluid forth, entering odd elliptical orbits in space for my aqueous humor-less eyes to perceive. The void affords an opportunity to know yourself alone, only while you can last against aggressive emptiness, with it's impassive passion for being filled by pressure-extracted soul gas.
...

At an early stage, a machine makes itself; material, exponential and infinitely complex. Though intense it lacks you, just a seat with a view for a discretely separate subset of the system, sentience. As soon as enough brain is built, for no reason but to know it can run, the shout goes out I AM!
...

...

...

'Did you ever wonder where it goes? Chase down that river's end and find to where it flows if you're not afraid to go down below, to a place without mellow where the field's never fallow for long enough to breed a stinking weed; a barley field with scarecrows of tweed protecting not the seeds but the love from the greed.'

'Don't follow the yellow brick road, you're better off on the path un-hoed and unbestowed; this is something only strangers with intimate details know. Those shoes don't tread on gold, they're like to rot and mold if you always do as you're told, so be bold and be whole and don't let your soul get too cold or you'll wake up old and alone with no one to phone because surprise, we're all dead or drones.'
...

...

At the first spot, with no one to watch, the first light broke the night, a balanced fluctuation in the averaged-out nothing equation, which got way out of hand and from that came dry land, the form of man, and from that a divine plan. Now that we're caught up from naught until present, I present you my problem should you find it pleasant as I have to ponder, so imagine you wander in space where that imbalance took place, and what imperceptible change would need be arranged for the world to be deranged, or perhaps perverted, estranged, or otherwise diverted from it's course, and as it is the source, every moment henceforth is also upended, never-againded and utterly prevented.

Imagine then that one origin spot is in fact not all the universe we've got, for we do not know how to plot or on what grid to jot down that dot. As these things go, what we do know is that ours is not the only equation to have done so, and thus some greater globe must undergo a coming and going of unimaginable blowing, as universii with no external time do their flowing. I've circled my point, but come to it now: with so many chances, all things are allowed. Now as we pull back the heavenly shrowd to see an expansive, radioactive dust cloud, we can know and be proud that the bubbles in the sky don't mean we're about to die, rather where others like us have brushed by! Do they see the same signs, and with the same minds? Is there one world just for you and I?
...

If words are packets of data with context which accumulates and links in a neurological chain, building a similar idea as had the one did the speaking, what precision in description is needed to convey the simplest message with strictest sincerity? A thousand written works of a thousand words or more could certainly not contain the range of thought and meaning which circle a fundamental feeling, therefore my effort is futile in that my goal is to be perfectly clear and express what I hold dear, but take this not for dismay since with a bit of luck I can still relay an echo of my memories and share imagined destinies, enough that perhaps your brain will contain a pattern like mine, at least of the same general design, which gives us the framework to inter-relate and co-habitate, for countless days conversate and play out every debate.

...
...