As we edge, ever so closer, towards criticality.. this episode around, my lovely co-host Arielle 🌹and I 👁️ are contemplating hospitality.

It is a well-known wisdom not to measure a fish by how well it climbs a tree. But should the measure of man preside over Commander Data’s ethical considerability …

You were
The Chosen One!
Was it not written
that you’d be The One
who bringeth balance
to The All?

And what
became of you?
A devilish and
unapologetic
man-whore.
The One who
traded his
still-beating heart
and soul
to speak The Devil’s
strange
and crooked tongue
of …

I am not sure
exactly what to say..
perhaps it isn’t
quite The End
of sweet
and bitter
days?

Perhaps
The Elder Gods,
as always,
got their way?
Perhaps
The Devil finally
got paid?
Perhaps
Almighty God
is deaf
in one ear?
Perhaps
Death’s footsteps
finally draw
near …

The sky is the limit
and the limit
is the roof.
The only way
to get there..
is inflating
a balloon.

In fact, you may just
have to blow your lungs
into a-many..
for The All of them
to hold your
weight.

Best hurry up,
because The Fiddler
is already …

The Shadow falls..
not in the land
of the living,
bathed in sunlight
of reality that is..

Rather instead,
in Death’s
Dream Kingdom.
That which lies
on neither side..
but only in-between.

And thou may toss
a pretty penny
in the fountain of
eternal youth..
but not a shiny …

Just when you think
that your six-shooter
is all out of bullets
to be landing you
into the land
of ever-in-the-clear..

you peep into
the cylinder,
before you roll it,
only to discover
there is still, in fact..
one beer.

What joy and respite
is there to be found..
for the most vicious
of all living fiends
to ever roam..
The All four corners
of this opium den?

When our question
of The How
remains ill-posed..
and terminally
promises to meet
its bitter end..
consider then
another matter
that arises …

There is only
so much magic
for your squeezing..
out of Jack’s
black and catty
strange superposition
box..
and when another pack
runs dry
what is there left of it?
Another pile
of still half-smoked,
but freshly baked
whole-nots.

What is the greatest thing
that ye can experience?
Indeed, it is the hour..
of great contempt.
The hour when
even thy happiness
is naught but loathsome
unto you..
And thou art spiraling
into the loving arms..
of Death.

What is so great
about this dreadful hour,
I hear ye …

In life,
there’s no such thing
as a mistake..
only a happy little
accident, you see.
In either case,
you end up on some
wabi-sabi branch
upon God’s happy little
painted tree.

The joy of painting
lies in radical acceptance
of whichever branch
you ultimately get.
I have …