(You Know Who You Are)
You were born at the terminus of booming times in twentieth-century Detroit, half one hundred years gone and yet to come, and began to experiment with the confluence of thoughts and words; and (prior to the conceptual and technological verities of your latter years), impelled you to coordinate (right) hand, fountain pen, and paper. But we are in a now, having lost our then, and gained our hyper through the world’s new webwide rules, your hands and mine united in the keyboards’ clacking (and touchscreens’ pinched) reality of plying the digital byways. This rambling narrative is but one result of your decades-long somnambulist’s wanderings and brooding.
Some might like to dignify this laconic stab at speculation as contemplation; an exploration of the constituents of consciousness itself. But your preference has always been for the grandiose, and thus you have decided to christen it a “Rumination on Reality.”
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