Sitting in my chambers, this place, an old faithful, pondering over the playing field, the battlefields, the warzone, the map of our realm: the realm. This moment as ours but another’s tomorrow. The collective ours.

From upon my throne, I ponder, seeing ello always and as yet still a war. You can tell it by the battles. There is what I suppose you could call peace, or better shall I say a lack of fighting at this moment. None of us are strong enough to do much reigning within Twitter. But it has its purposes other than the conquering of. Medium as a sort of megaphonic pulpit, perfect for the releasing of paraphernalia and manifestos. And then there are all these countless others, places and objects like: Hangouts, Docs, Telegram, tumblr.  

I have my little troupe of which I am a part of. We these wandering samurai. White space ronins, collectively contained within each other. A peanut gallery for my thoughts. Beings of which I see my god self reflected within their godselves.

What’s next lies ahead, yet seeded in the present. The grail being crafted through the combinations of our gut juices. Utopia a myth replaced by Heaven on Earth and the decisions that we make which will affect our descendents. Drawing on the ancestors to usher in this tomorrowland today.  

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