the end of ours

... whose zone is this?... where's my winger?

... I thought to someone, our lives are connected
as long as we live, it just happens to be that way

... that is already a logical observation, and
almost by definition a basic premise, because
too many common memories are intertwined

... and there is an ours,
as long as a || b exists and evaluates as true

... whether we love or hate one another is purely
determined by how we perceive the context of our
co-existence with others in a group,

... you can't force a true dirt dog, to join a pack
that it dosn't jive with
... likewise, you can't keep a dog from seeking the
company of a compatible pack
... that is just pure Limbic brain emoto-reaction

... so where does ours begin, and likewise where does ours end?

... what are the boundaries?... in the creation fields

... as worlds fly by my soul, I wonder, which will become reality

... the answer is just past the twin peaks

... in honor of Lord Stanley, I thought up a new
game, a perfect movie script, where NHL players, who
felt their true rankings were somehow not shown clearly
by the stats, started up these informal free-leagues, where
guys would show up with their pals, on backyard ice rinks,
and play for bragging rights. Lots of cool girls hanging
out, gambling intrique, tears and honor deep psychological stuff
... problems with contracts over injuries sustained...good looking
female lawyers, :-)

... eh, a guy can have a hockey dream, can't he?


2010 by zentara