From the 7GS album: “Eightfold” 💿 First, came the fragments. Then the folders. Then the names. A room, became a chamber. notes became, an archive. A wound, became a question. (A question) A question, became a frame. Soul, O.S., didn’t arrive first. First, something happened. Then I broke, into pieces. Then I documented. Then, I organized. Then symbols, appeared. Then architecture… Only after the mapping, did I call the architecture, “Soul, O.S.” I kept buildin‘, anyway. With what I had. (What I had) With what, I could carry. With tools, that were never enough. and ideas, that would-not stop. I kept buildin‘, anyway. Not because, the road was clear. Because building, was how I learned, where I was… Noble Truths Network. Seven Guides. Wanda Winnette Tick. Memory rooms. Libraries. Nodes. Archives. My, Infinite Saga! Soul, O.S. Summer Moons. FeveredSpring. Winterdream. Porch Light Tales. Names, holdin‘ worlds… that ordinary language, couldn’t hold (luma, la-li…) I think, in eras: before language: The fractures, The builders, The myth… up to now. Not a straight line; A braid: memory, love, work, politics, grief, myth, reinvention. One Guide, holds grief. One, keeps rhythm. One maps, meaning. One, opens, the voice! One builds, the scaffolding. One knows, how to restart. And One, witnesses. the whole. (That’s 7! (The whole)) Mm-and… (Terra.) stays outside, the circle: silent, unpaid, unbranded, watching the edge. Seven voices (The Seven, Guide, Symphony…) One architecture. Not seven isolated, islands. Of tomorrow… A referral loop. A handoff, when one lane ends! you‘ve got, avenues: pages, trackers, pouches, workbooks, blankets, tumblers,, calendars, plans for emergencies… plans for, ordinary days. Think of: “Brianna“, in Brooklyn, “Tommy”, in Missouri, “Lena”, in Seattle. Different doors. Different needs. One principle: don’t make one system carry, what belongs, to another. (I say…) Twenty percent, for founders. Five percent, For a Solace, Fund. Seventy-five goes, To charity, then overhead. (Not poetry, but infrastructure matters!) A Guardian, can become a satellite. A satellite, can become a story. A story, can become a part, Of your song. The machines, were never the meaning… The meaning, is why the structure, exists… I kept buildin‘, anyway. Not to prove, I was right. Not to make the world, obey. I built, because chaos, hurts less, when somebody gives it a place, to exist. And if someday, It’s not me, at the center; let the structure, hold. Let somebody else, add a room. (Add a room!) Add your room… Nothing here, was random. It was a life, learning how to organize, itself. how to organize itself… ( I kept buildin‘. I kept buildin‘, buildin’) I kept buildin‘. ( I kept buildin‘. I kept buildin‘, buildin’) Anyway.. (anyway, anyway) Anyway.. (anyway, anyway) anyway…
