No, really, what are they? Do they represent some fixed style or approach to producing content, or are they sporadic, momentous achievements which can be proclaiming to produce content?

Is this post content, or should it be considered pointless non-content for the free leisure of tired minds looking for an interest?

Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it is neither, for I have a schedule that is not a schedule. It is neither sporadic nor a fixed style. May be it is a bit of both. Maybe I try to make myself look good without being a nuisance.


So, I'm tried in the court of spells which proclaims I seek knowledge attempting to unlock the far reaches of my mind. However burnt out I am, distant and forgetful is the motto.

Carelessly picking up the pieces of the fragmented soul, there can be no telling what may come next. Pursuing time itself may be plausible, but likely impossible. Darkening my eyes by dropping the lids, it is harder to consider than to simply do it. The lids that is, not the eyes.

The court of spells dissuades me from trying the elements so ever faint as they are. Carrying on my duties like they are important, but nonetheless frivolous. They say that you can't fight, but fighting is all I see. Fighting like there is something to fight for. To fight would be careless, too, you know.

Perhaps I was mistaken. The court of spells would have me guilty for my crimes. Quitting now would not be a tremendously good idea. They always like to make it out that they own the world beyond your mind, that the plugs and cogs are all in the right places and they can be tweaked to change you. Meld and perfect you to their wishes.

Minds are all that is left in this world if not for the prison that they are connected to. Cogs and wheels spin, that's our cue. We travel long distances to spin more cogs. Machines still need maintenance.

The court of spells would have us killed if such machines fell apart. However ironic it might be that the court of spells would have us believe their machines are magical, they are limited in but one area: they are binary.

Machines like that about themselves. Schedules are like machines too. They sleeplessly forget the mission they sought, so too are there masters. Those that rule by schedule are always a machine. But binary. No time for tea or cakes, always at the task at hand.

Perhaps the court of spells are right. The mind twists and distorts our natural instincts, but not so far that we seek to mend it. It would explain why sporadic minds make sporadic chaos, mostly internally.

They cannot fathom reality that is scheduled to fit the machine. The world is a machine. Large as it may be, the machine is no match for nature itself, for nature is sporadic.

Two mediums working against each other. On the one hand, machines fit a specific pattern of binary instructions, telling us when to work, when to fight, when to calm. On the other hand, nature is spontaneous yet fits perfectly in its own luscious reality.

How can the two remain together, yet so far apart? To ignore one is to be sucked in the other. Just which path does one take? Machines are limited, binary and proclaim to rule the destitute minds below.

But then why succumb to schedules? Should that be necessary? Can we forgive the far reaches of our subconscious to resist them so?

The court of spells would have me there. Schedules are irresistible. They represent formality, linearity and binary instructions. Easy to follow. Cannot go wrong?

Going wrong is always the case. The court of spells do not acquiesce to the sporadic nature of humans. Carry on, they say.

But how does the scheduling go? Does it remember? 'Machines with cogs', the court of spells would begin with, 'have what we can deliver to ensure maintenance among the delusional.'

There can be no schedule for us, that is not how it goes. You are either one or the other, not both. Machines cannot help us if we keep moving. Binary motions may keep me in one place, but the nature of my mind seeks something more.

'Guilty', they say. Not for seeking answers, no. For seeking something more. That little bit extra that makes up for destitution elsewhere. Cannot forgive. Cannot forget. Reality with the machines cannot dissuade true human nature.


Well, that was weird. It came out, you see. Binary colours and soulless machines crying out in pain in all parts of the world. Can we help them seek something more, something better than the machine they depend on for survival? Can they survive some other way, or do machines help us too much?