These are the oldest stars, the seastars, the ones that have been sailing
the seas since the dawn of Civilization. The barge of Sky rocks in the
waves, the stars all jingling like crystal pendants, like jingling
tinkers' wares, like wind chimes. Each star a dream. A nuclear furnace to
power the dreamers. Each star signifies the soul of a person on earth.

Each star a tiny jesus stacked up for the sins of a human. Each star
a luminant microdoll corresponding, sending pulsing inspiration signals
down through the clean light year clouds.

 

Stars dream chimes in the soul wind of Mars. The ancient panoramas,
bug darkness in the cold earthrise. Marine spring. Hemispheric sky
planes, smoke from the burning night gathered in reefs & flotillas at the
eastern crescent.

 

Stars are themes, constellations their relations. The archetypal
seed-images, swimming like seed-pearls in the velvet above. To divine a
star's governing image, read the stars — visit the skies. The
information comes down the beam, riding the beam, in coded pulses atoms
in your eyes decipher — the decoded information is leaked through sugary
membranes and dripped into your brainpan.

 

The seed-images for societies, movements, renaissances, and
uprisings. Outmoded seed-images explode, dumbbell nukes in space. Johnny
Applesky walks through (during the day) and drops pearls here and there
into the warm rich black loam of space, to replace those lost by
attrition. And in the morning of the next night, you might find a new
idea has occurred to you. Thanks, Johnny Applesky!