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Time is a luxury we no longer possess

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Space Tourism Chronicles The Slingshot Saga 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. Transcript from the Slingshot Saga - Time is a luxury we no longer possess Our goddamn battered Subi spacecraft, a damn relic lost in the endless black void! Flickering like a dying firefly on the edge of extinction, its core barely clinging to life like some stubborn, flickering candle about to blow out. We’re stuck on Primary Trade Lane Delta-Nine, that blazing river of cosmic light stretching for eons, yet every damn cycle just bleeds away, sucking the lifeblood right out of this forsaken stretch of space. BK is slumped over, looking paler than a ghost at a midnight séance, and J...
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Ubud It happens in this time.

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It happens in this time.

Within all of this hassell and bustle, there is peace to be found.
It matters that our approach of founding is addressed.
If we don't walk so fast,  if our minds are rested.
We will have found this, where and whenever we intend understanding.
Time were ritual is small,  place where space is eternal.
There is a pattern to making sense.
Personalised and collective.


Forget the calling of the influential and competitive.
Forget the combatants.
Attempt to day dream.
Fall over the drawn line.
Re-position and let each door open wide.
So much to see in so many small spaces.
A universe in each unearthed cavity.



There are many gods who nonsensically watch us.
All whispering whilst we restrictively rant.
They have privileged loss.
They have fallen from superiority to obscurity.
Their stories are silent whilst we are glorious in distraction.
Fall with them, dream with them,  be at mind with them.



Within each fall, they linger and mutate on.
Through each season, timeless and enduring.
Cyclic they remain unnoticed.
They want to be noticed,  and we can learn from their shimmer.
Their stains against time.
It is possible to see them dance and weave through our space.
Ever-slowly, ever-changing and ever-in-ness.
It happens in this time.
Never in or when convenient.
Busy being,  erodes our capability to make sense.




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