23 February

Walking the onyx plank, receive your detractors as chimes in a turquoise breeze that blows from the starboard past. For stuck they are, under the thumb of the captain of the present. Turn also then to the port side future; for living in the moment can only leave you captive to the deck of the eternal goings on, hierarchy, and the other struggles that are actually the atrophy whose only hope is a speedy decay spurred by the salt of the winds.

10 February

And so reaching between, into the cavernous spaces, look not for the compensation for toil and usury - this porridge to be handed to the next mouth, who only hands it to yet another, and so forth, until one actually sits, eats, and sleeps, only to dream of being somewhere in that process the next day, and wakes to actually do it. For there is nothing to be taken seriously in this system of transactions, trade-offs, and middlemen. In this cavern of castes and embers of hope, always stay to the left, hugging that firewall; for doing this will see you emerge at the well-lit truism of you looking into the mirror, seeing the one with whom you've been exchanging offers.

6 February

Hold a deep breath, outstretching your arms to the Expansion's front as fast as the cosmological constant allows. Point your feet downward, not just to our molten core, but beyond to the Singularity. Regard these spiritual calisthenics highly, as they will make an Everest summit seem like a rest, enlightenment seem like a shadow, and a pilgrimage seem like the walk in the park that turned out to be a negotiation through life's ghetto that we'll posthumously praise as exactly the balance we originally called for.

4 February

Conglomerate the Scottish sphinx until the sense of it no longer rings true. See it as the red herring it flies like, and learn to discriminate between the liar and the lair, the flight and the plight, and to navigate all the other phonic tricks of the jester we call time.

3 February

The battlefields of the lions soak a pumice soil with red stains and silent memories. Watching the beaded drops awaiting entry into the dust, remember to practice your own patience while your destiny's probability function takes its time collapsing. And later, like the once-brilliant red beads, your life will have faded toward black and white, having no longer the bright, spherical brilliance, but a dull, patchy stain in time. Find in this the peace of rest.