somedays they cry justice, somedays they weep mercy, all the tears and heartache sucked into an energetic hole as the magistrates are listless, and looking for a lunch their secretaries filing nails and letting telephones ring out. i pass the wishful thinkers, the dreamers and the lost, mere spores in the breeze floating without concern. some have headphones listening to tunes, some stick their face in magazines and gossip, lies manufactured bleeding through screens and pages torn. the gods of small things are the same as the gods of bigger ones, the gods all spin upon a higgs bosun. 

outside elements have spun a wonderfully bright clear spring day, the gardens vibration with renewal, the waves gently roll in lapping at rock. i stand above watching the shifting geology through slow time. the stillness makes me consider a zen like emptiness, a removal of matter. peace has nothing to do with freedom, it's only a side effect. side effects are everywhere, they slip into influences and change the fabric of reality. i am a side effect myself, weaving through like a string of code, hacking my way under the surface tension. 

am i source code, am i seeking the source. 

the high probability is i am both.