There are seeds in my landfill lifestyle, seeds of change, seeds of a fuzzy future utopia. If we poke around, can we find some pre-sprouted possibility, can we find the incarnate potential, a hint of what IT might look like?
Around Lake Michigan there are mad experiments, noble projects, impractical dreams, pragmatic miracles. Scattered all around the planet in equal distribution. The shores of Lake Michigan are no different than any other place on earth when it comes to magic seeds. The kingdom of heaven is spread upon the earth and man does not see it. Tell me about it.
Get a trickster out there, a cwazy wabbit and look through his eyes. A sproutatarian, an animal magentized to the new shoots, the green life. Moi. If green means anything, it means fresh. Electrically luminous from rain, glowing with vibrant near knowing.
Forget the doublespeak abstraction of green that means just about whatever the marketers want it to, nothing. All natural, green – words that have had all the love sucked out of them, processed and nullified to serve the consuming civilization, the self consuming and nullifying anti-life.
So soup me, it’s late! Rather than sleeping, I see the shining moon and prepare to check the list. Shouldn’t be blogging, too much hot truth from a dizzy core dump.