Happenverse

The microverse continues as the living, active cosmos.
The stars of the macrocosm are the ghost in the machine
deep in there, look and see their voices calling: 

we are present out here at the farthest spun out
boundaries of an expanding metaworld. If one wants
to know what goes on at the ultimate end of all galaxies
one need only observe what occurs directly to them.
Without a doubt we are all extra terrestrials to each
other which by definition states fundamentally and
in all ways conceivable that no sooner would we be able
to make so-called 'first contact' with an 'alien civilization'
than we would be capable of (for example, reasonably)
expecting some of our metacarpals to travel through
our bodies and make contact with the metatarsals
on either side.  So the entire universe warps around us 

(our refutation of non-existence arrives along time's axis 

in the wake of a spiraling wink-out of stars) and everything's 

inside out, which means that truth lies concealed as an open 

paradox affirming that any and all points in existence remain
in the exact center really an electromagnetic motor
with space as the battery powering an infinite drive
where life flourishes along the current of time.

Colors are running

and the street's are getting cold 
in the cornrows of memory 
buried achievements left untold

the whole damn thing's on the run
a fraction of a fragment in time
the nictitating blink of an eye

then sound stood still for once
upon a sustained moment 
as if the whole world pivoted

underfoot to witness laid out
on your back the stars drifting
across to the right ever so slow

The Unblinking Mirror

  Philip thought he understood the dilemma
facing him and his fellows every time he
booted up his computer and logged online
to the world wide web, but he really only
had the faintest and to be honest pretty
vague notion of a shadow of an idea, one
that was yet to be fully-formed. Philip had
the beginnings of a shadow of an idea creep
into his head each time he got on the computer.

  He had no clue that the completion of this thought
was only to begin occurring every time he logged
off the computer to return to his own cognizance
of the ordinary world, a world which he found
himself constantly blinking in.

  Except when he was online, he never blinked
while taking in the constant streaming data
from his computer monitor, or at least he had
no recollection of ever having blinked while
sitting before the monitor. Which was a little
odd, he thought to himself while scanning
lines of text on the screen.

  He'd read that in real life human beings blinked
fifteen times a minute. So what happens when
you don't blink for fifteen minutes staring at
an illuminated screen reading script formulated
by the same old characters which have been
responsible for possessing us in the first place?

  Philip hadn't the faintest clue. That's because
he kept logging back online. This interrupted
the otherwise closed circuit of experiential
analog dreaming. This is how Philip and a host
of others are slowly transforming to ghosts.