You Are Not a Microwave: a love letter to magickal creatures
Dearest Moon Baby,
You are not a microwave.
You are not an automated interface.
You are not a system to be hacked and optimized.
You are not a pill of concentrated productivity potential to be extracted.
You are not a wedge of time to be surgically segmented and shrink wrapped.
Neither are you an anxious upright cucumber stuffed with wiggling neurosis.
You are not a sinner to be hijacked by faceless shouts.
Or a psyche to be sold...
Or a product to be scrapped and shuttled to an algorithmic pinball machine in the cloud.
You are not a problem to be fixed.
You are a constellation of many eyes with which to feel many truths.
You are a flaming heart with the elasticity to swallow the world.
You are a Mystery Bag of perceptions, a treasure chest of bottlecaps and pony beads.
You are a nap in the sun.
You are a not-so-distant-cousin of jellyfish, giant sequoia trees and selenite caves.
You are a web of fungi that speaks to itself from the future past.
You are sphinx full of riddles and laughing medicine.
You are an alembic of golden sludge birthing a ribbony ruby dragon.
You are the legacy of healers, makers, gardeners, storytellers, and responsible pet owners.
You are a friend of plants and creator of new dimensions.
You are a challenging beast of wild desire, simple pleasure and lofty ideas.
You are a cordless agent of spontaneous insight and perfumed skin.
You are the genie of tomorrow, dreaming fresh wishes in the Mariana Trench.
You are a child fed by a patient rock and a burning star.
You are a cathedral nave fostering our collective Imagination.
You are a messy sparrow-sandaled threat to apathy.
You are an ancestor in the making and the misty woods they haunt.
You are a genius wizard who accidentally sneezes inspired inventions
You are these things and much more.
So much more.
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