Why write? To let readers into the creative space. It's not like a crossword puzzle that's been filled in. Reading this means recreating it. Our hike into new territory is recreational, a paradoxical precognition wherein my canvas is your active mind and the vistas here are visited with a migration of butterflies, building cranes which I see reaching into the far distance.



There is a blue haze. It is being towed by a driverless car which dreams of a horse, showing a palomino on a screen that will become transparent if if you think the thought. And that's the opening for words that spell themselves. If it seems too farfetched, this sortie began with googling for precognition, for Dean Radin books, turning up Entangled minds, and The Conscious Universe.. Sufficient evidence that we're in this together.

It's everywhere. The spaceless space that fills itself with a grease trap to filter politicians and insects wearing red visors, advertisements for health insurance, drought busting green plastic turf, the exclusions of Venn necessities. I see Emerson's cottage perched atop the new control tower at San Jose International Airport, knowing the view through the glass is simulated. It could as well have been the bioimplementation of apple pie sniffers snorfing for cinnamon. I think they are there at the baggage gate trying to detect terrorists. And the pleasure of having escaped Camus.

There is no way to slow this down after passing muster at The Atlantic or The Washington Post. No way around Trump viewing the solar eclipse without eye protection. The true vision sears within.

And the pleasure, once again, of having escaped.