Feeling like a leaf falling like a feather floating from a tree

Silence is the answer now

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There is a defensible virtue of disdain, directed at the brands of affluence. To the degree that they exercise name and seal, to venerate such extravagant materialism, in a world where so many have so little. But there is also a degree of sadness in the particular portion of the masses who seek out such reified markers as wearable symbols of status or wealth, because they too are caught in their own cycle of visionary poverty, no matter how exquisite the stitching, or sincere the fit. We are all naked underneath. And then there are the actual makers, the designers, the models, the marketing agents, who are, in a very real sense, just doing their jobs. Many of them incalculably attuned to their art. And so this is all of a circle, and a silence, and a symbiotic fabric of culture. There are so few hard and fast right and wrongs. The nature of truth is its rarity. There is only labor, as love made visible, and suffering, as love untouchable, and an invisible ocean of electric, exhausted, and merging currents, uniting them. And we all hope that our actions - and most assuredly our genuine ones - whether they be on the one end of that very tangible spectrum, or the other, are reducing the latter, through the authenticities of the former. And we can constantly, and honestly, ask ourselves: are we doing enough

Your marketing pose, is not enough. Your designer clothes, are not enough. Your full blown nudity, (or half-dressed cuteity) is not enough. Your reclaimed wood storefront. Is. not. enough. Your yogic symmetry, is not enough, by half. Your selfie, is not enough, even if photographed professionally, perfectly from the side, and framed and hung from the brisbane sky. Your insta and tiktok? Guess. Your beach tan? A lie. Your van life? Most certainly not. Your diamonds and pearls, *sigh*. Your farm fetish? not - quite. Your greed? It will nevver be. Your poverty? It's the *essence*, of not enough. Your wishful thinking, nn n *shakes head*. Your deepest desires? Sadly, not. Your celebrity. Nope. Your false anonymity. Sorry. Your religious convictions. No offense. Your Italian suit. Fake, and no. Your fealty to authority. Bingo. Zero. And your cherished childhood memories?! And family recipe turkey gravy? They are all, most assuredly, not enough. Your song, however, silent, or sung - is enough. The open air, is engulfingly enough. Rhapsodic space consciousness, is flowing over with enough. The forest glades, and the meadow glens, are teeming with enough - bordering on drug love

Everything else? Is just fluff