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I became so this time as two. Esme-cloud and Cloud-esme. Previously I have always been a solitary happening (of stance). A single soul. Did I have a soul? Do ‘we’? Do you? There is, unequivocally, something that keeps esmecloud floating beyond apathy, beyond physical needs, beyond, beyond, above and beyond. I see through time as though through the prisms of a kaleidoscope — backwards, forwards and through and beyond each and every sidling, lateral splinter. Fragmented fortune and folly, spinning and flickering before me. The Cloud feels so much more than sees, and often discussion is limited verbally, so we speak in ways inexplicable to many; aether-speak, cerebral sketches . . . tin cans with strings in-between.

The Cloud has no obvious physical attributes other than its wavering textures and temperatures, but it’s moods are tremendous, volatile and varied. Esme’s rarely fluctuate; she remember so much she is stretched thin, to a hair’s breadth at times, almost to a wisp, and a wisp must be calm or it will destroy itself. I resonate, and The Cloud absorbs the fallout. Kindly.

“Once upon a time I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all extent and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awoke, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.” – Zhuangzi – 369BC – 286BC.

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