Receive unfolding patterns with MicroDome.

In my usual way I have been observing subjective reality from my dome of objectivity. The dome exposes the miasma in which we swim allowing me to use my human senses to perceive the recurring ripples in our collective atmosphere. These turbulences and tributaries remain the primary source of my intellectual stimulus rendering my human senses listless in their wake. I know the dome wears me because of my observations during inspired wanderings.

Life gives tacit consent to my ripple-perception as I look into its eyes and it smiles and I feel, as is my wont, its longing for me to notice its patterns undulating in the thickening miasma. Life’s lips curl as I’m flooded with emergence. Ideas. Energies. Imperceptible to the domeless. A lifelash penetrates my septum from the expanding optic-orb of meaning, in a fashion to which I am accustomed. Meaningfulness spurts in pulses as my nasal leakage does, splattering my shirt with understanding.

Engorged with inspiration, I order the double double animal style for my style is that of the animal and your menus can no longer be kept secret as I raft unseen through your miasmic crick. You touch my outstretched hand with your work-bleached, young fingers and press a coin to my palm, firing patterns of observation in synaptic resonance and my dome chimes in intervals unknown to ears. Drenched by my dome, you receive but a glimpse of what is simply my everyday objective understanding which compels you to smile as you tacitly approve by acknowledging my motions through the small sliver of space-time you are afforded access to with a simple, human homily. … “We’ll call your name when your order is ready, Ben.”