Xeno-byte processes predict binary answers. Facts or no facts.
But our words whir as Gödel, Joyce, and Heisenberg describe things do. Triangulated regions known, but vast exactitudes remain unexpressed.
I know you’re there but when I arrive all I see is nothing. Hollow pieces with shells and spin charged describe observable outcomes. But who are you?
Hair and clothes and positions given acclaim, authorities issued to you and not another. But who are you?
Bluster by transmogrifying masters of guessing offer us securities. They offer fallacies of misplaced concreteness. They push others to walk on their described solid grounds and then watch the fall. Coyotes plummeting.
Holograms all. Described by the binaries but felt by no one. Misplaced links lead nowhere notion the dots are logic hubs, portals of knowledge to be leapt from are portals to banality. Orange roadrunners laugh from a distance but never clean the barbarous stains left behind.
Succulence is seen but never attained. Rainbows chased are left wanting. They are described again, reaffirmed, but never there. The told grandeur better than grandeur itself.
Planes of tumultuous innuendos are seen from perched silent sitting and journeys with fungus and weeds. They see solid grounds in the shifting inexactitudes. Binaries wash away when dynamics watched are favored over outcomes predicted. They grok the ineffable. Smiles added when they return, added again when they see you too grok the ungrokkable.
