Art stepped on love’s toe. Love punched Art squarely in his face, a bleeding heart, a-breaking.
Anatomically perhaps, it makes but little sense, but the common sense
that Arthur was a-lacking then during an awful alcoholic affliction is now inspiring and serving
to instill in Arthur … perhaps, belatedly … an uncommon sense.

Chachomanopapa, and the power of ones that it touts, the letters and numbers
that by His Grace, bless mankind; including apiece
too, such human wisdom as may be deemed helpful, are the Way to proceed to prosper;
for, on Earth … only prosperity … promises peace.

In dreams, the Council conjured @chachomanopapa to communicate with everyone,
that they’ve left Margaritaville, to Jimmy and its fate;
and that their unlikely return from, notably, forty years under deserts’ searing suns,
evidence that, faith and prayer, sometimes do … forge fate.

Finite resources, whether or not, accompanied by catastrophic change,
and innate drives to compete, considered jointly,
along with other surrealistic perceptions, limit humanity’s range,
to fights at the drop of a hat, not ably …

… fixing, what needs fixing. To transcendentally best what ails you, emulation
of the communal conduct of lower forms, plainly
alluded to in The Plan make conceivable that, given computer connections,
augered are … algorithms … to higher planes.

An enhanced capability to communicate with one another is the alchemical key,
to achieving a semblance of peace, prosperity,
and a benevolence borne of love. The net may transform confining ubiety,
to a semblance of … God-like … ubiquity.


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