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Time is a luxury we no longer possess

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  Time is a luxury we no longer possess Our battered Subi spacecraft, a relic in the night Flickering erratic, its core a dying light On Primary Trade Lane Delta-Nine, a river of light so grand But cycles bled away, draining across the land BK slumped, pale and strained, JB with eyes closed in despair Time a luxury we no longer possessed, consumed by cosmic air. No stopping in uncharted space No "stop and revive" in this perilous, uncharted space. The Rumour Mill's comfort is a memory, lost to time and trace. The exorbitant demand is a punch right to the gut. Our savings drained, our journey's hope, behind a costly shut. Slingshot into an anomaly But Katcha's mind intertwined with Subi, a final desperate plea, "A predictive model for a slingshot to the anomaly!" "Best case, worst case": a gamble to save everything we hold dear, with a 45% chance of structural damage, battling hope and fear. To that faint, almost imperceptible energy signature, ...

GODin Pot





GODin Pot


In our time of relative peace, there are those who will forthrightly blame others to gain ascension.
They seek revenge through blinded principles.
But it is foolish for our society to gain prosperity from grounds of wrong.
To gain via perceive threats is untenable.
Centuries of thought have passed and still our want to employ hate lingers.
That is, to stop others and to gain our wants through forced misfortune.
And as our inflictions grow in number so does our determination.
Us theirs and ours cannot be decisively contained.
The more our empowered profiles gain clarity the less our perceived enemy is defined.
Until our enemy has no humanity that we can describe.
Until only shouts of evil and defiance describe only our state of understanding.
Within this scenario of threat, our real purpose is deliberately camouflaged.
And us we and they can no-longer see and or remember what was.
This is how our leading few maintains normalization.
Scratch this delusion and you will see that it is ourselves who are actually broken.
Our way of life is the tragedy of which we will not openly speak.
Our cost of understanding is misfortune.
Our consumption of self-hate is profitable.
We hate them for solace.









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