The future is unfolding before my eyes
while pages of the past dance
on the wind through alleyways:
so much flotsam.
Books made out of electrons spiral away
into the starry dynamo of night while
I toil with Gutenberg carving words out of dead trees
and the blood of dragons.
What is the future?
The future is bright and shining.
It gives off it's own light.
It is not a question of the past, or the future.
It is a question of whether it shall be the past,
or what has not yet been written.
"By any means necessary" becomes
the modus operandi by which we strive
and thrive and ultimately what we make of our lives.
Remember the words of the preacher in Ecclesiastes:
There is nothing new under the sun.
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