No Body Has a Choice
No body has ever been made, to have a choice. It has been molded, out of the dust and the tiny particles, of this peculiar Earth, mixed with hydrogen, infused with oxygen, nitrogenated and spurred, by the transforming carbon, into growth. Into thy being commandeth the rule of infinite will the program, imprinted, as millions transistors are burnt on the solid core of your soul. And there, within, and deeply painful it is, life that kicked the awareness of you into existence. Now walk! It showed you with the index finger. Across the pages of your book. As through a desert of thought and through illuminated parchments. You love, you will, you know, you do. Being of the light in its innumerable forms, who can't be saved cannot, who is, cannot. But go! Now walk! And reproduce!
While attending the BNE themed march for fancified freedoms, femdoms, furlorn, or whatever it might want to be called (march for freedom of a sort as a belief)
And you. You were always on my mind. I was always here, below.
On a Sunny Saturday, by the occassion so called a 'March for Freedom', or 'March for World', of which difference which I never know.
What was that about?
To prove that one can walk from Landsborough to Brisbane QLD without a plan and safely return back home. One dead frog a time.