An inspirational speech given by Steve Jobs not long before his death.

Patience? I don’t know her. Well perhaps I’ve made her acquaintance once or twice in some distant past that I’m now more than positive belongs to someone else.

It’s art if it can’t be explained. It’s fashion if no one asks for an explanation. It’s design if it doesn’t need explanation. — Wouter Stokkel

dawn rose punctual, on time
as usual for a minute

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how prettily
we grow in love
with hate, into cadavers

beyond this once
within the once
within the once within
unfocused — you become.

What speaks only through crookedness
From one place to another

The roses are not fretful. They become
A symbol of how it has gone;

clouds do not dance with the earth and the land until they are burdened

precious, I have carried safe,
the salt of your renaissance mouth

How odd to have faith in a circle
Open enough to uncrowd us.

What’s an opinion. A distinctly individual entity — a county, a codec, a group, unit, cell, person — that gathers information from its surroundings, processes it and eventually coughs up some output.

Even as it empties now,
Countless happy accidents

The estival sun has fallen East,
well past the country, bird and beast

Steampunk—a sub-genre of science fiction—takes us back to an older world where steam power is still the new invention in style.

propagate its scores of states
with pockets full of stone
accustomed to clear light.

About the Lakes, there is quietness,
a sense of dislocation;

Design is easy. All you do is stare at the screen until drops of blood form on your forehead. — Marty Neumeier

love spins between
two bodies, top & bottom, the beautiful,

It happens as the eyes expand,
these slits of time, un-focus,
as everything grows winking,
or magically comes, half alive.

goes on without you, what
will not come back
to the moment before

There is a place in isn’t,
that is not, nor ever was,
what is

flower
we are beautiful
you with your circular ever

It is not a careless weight
Within each death beneath you,
The laying down of arms.

Life isn’t easy when you’re dead,
there’s always a thirst

Each ecstasy I carry aims toward the clarity
of heaven. Light by light

In space, I am
inclusive
yet not

tomorrow
is endlessly flawed,
more vacuous love — than a why

his hooves
have ground the sand before

It does not herald, no
instead—
it waits—

In the room for minds
they speak of love and peace.
We stand removed,

rise with me from darkness, then give me your hold in the birthing

…when she spun
on the edge of a harvest moon dancing

above this grave of whale,
above this grace they navigate
no further than their sails.

Into your eyes they forged the misconception
You would be something more

Outside the dust beyond one window. Outside,
room & wall, divides,

Time & again there’s tomorrow. A moment
grows, surrenders.

C:\Documents and Settings\God>_
C:\Documents and Settings\God> I am

the flight of birds is buoyancy,
efficiency & lift,
a sensitive noise in the silence.
the language of feather &