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The words are swimming on natural fibre in a slow state of decay, so like the times they were published in they are relevant for a certain period, books become like throwaway magazines, more for the recycle bin, only in context for the times they were created, no more classics, just temporal transitory distractions, cant see the trees because of the books.
Library's like so many dead forests, filled with dried ink from many dead hands like headstones bearing inscriptions to so many dead minds trying to capture a moment in time to immortalize temporal thoughts without content of context to the life they were written from.
Information passing through generational filters passing over in other content and context, mixing and disseminating old thoughts in new minds, abstraction of consciousness locked in static security, old guards of ideas.
The blindfold of print, given new life in receptive minds, taught to read, one direction to another. Each word a separation from a sentence, each sentence a separation from awareness.
Playing with words as art, before i played with words i just played. ~
Reading the Narada bhakti sutras at the moment they are so good i would recommend them to anybody with a devotional practice. Narada's Bhakti Sutras |
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