This may be the only song I ever play, who knows how long these things may last, the medium itself, spoken words

ready to read, instants, made and held to fit my familiar readers range of prosocic pace as neasured in column inches

The novel idea, as formed from the first forms we see as random samenesses, are as clouds and flowing streams,
after rain, flowing down the scrape where the road got cut.

All the matter needed for now,
to become this, with us in it,
all that ever mattered, as everwise, otherwise, not us, but
other mind, übermenschen, selected from the fiery furnace, as yes, yes, seven times hotter,
a regular bessemer level tech breakthrough.

Dare, do dare imagine had Krupp Stahl been smelted in Babylon.

Well, we shall tell the story, as we wish it told, – make that

The Law of Treating Right Being

Kinky JPL Founder Odd Mind Insights, ah, you never heard