Withholding of knowledge by choice seems to have become the prime subjective. Involving a formal condition as hype. Yet pathetic. The fantastasia a proposition in logic and reason in contrast with a category yet disjunctive. For a purpose or a supposition would be my inquiry. So let me propose. Hands and rockets full of pocks marked to have become the choice objective.
How shall I share with the audience the consistent array of subtle yet fantastic reverie would be my next inquiry considering the discourse of this composition and certainly there is art, official and in prose, as dissenting from versification and elocution. Merely an attempt to meddle the rheotaxis. Consequential .
Could say i looked long into an abyss last night. From time stamp on last gibberish jabber…to 3 pm today. (Theres fast stuff in my mind that can only come out correct? No thats not it..) If it comes out fast…which cannot be done via text tiny keyboard. The written word is difficult any more lately…but figured it out. It takes longer because its like painting a picture. One draws water from a well he doesnt figure it out. But you can draw figures. Numbers are figures or is it the other weigh around? Its not that easle…then there are brush strokes. And when one rows their boat gently down the stream of water then therr are padfling strokes. Merely merely merely merely…life is but a dream. (So bare with me. Im only half naked)
Possibly won’t say something you dont know already Rationalising feelings approximate
As between things or to another in quanity or degree
I once found the crawl
Attentive to theory or supposition
And adopted the critcs opulent
Im still “life like”…. Got it in me
Rather get it out
And in an attempt to forego expressive speech
By mine own slanted perception
Discourse again with elocution
Could you show me how to interfere eloquently
This is the has been epitome of fill in the blanks
If I were to wish i may
I wish i might
Speed of blight
Suffers fools gladly
Dorment. Chemically laced. Its here smack dabbled along the way side, maybe ship wrecked somewhere beyond the shore line. Is there not too many shores here among the too numorous masses? Tomorous man.
But its not the same, not any more. Not like it was before and that I knew for sure just as the sickness is the cure. We keep breathing and endure.
Where was it that once I heard, They criminalize the symptoms while they spread the disease.?
Somewhere about the morning painted softly like a whisper. Drained like water colors in the rain. They run together so to say. Last nights fall to shatter tomorrows breaking day.
And Id remember well, all those once upon a times to which so much we bid fare well. I keep breathing and endure. But to look back now it mostly seems a blurr. Was not was when where things were. And maybe we do all get what we deserve. As the circle comes, full tilt boogie, back to where before time was once upon the story book allure. Yes. That I knew for sure. From where all things have come to change, again to where all things commence to go. And come once more to that which is just as it was before. And will be many times more. Full tilt boogie.
And the chemically induced super skitso callafrenia. Our reptilian brains will shed. But who then paints the roses red? As the scales tip and then do slither. Into a double helix the fruit did wither.
In a way the serpent is my hero. And if zero plus two equals one then one minus two equals zero.
So it goes, it goes to show. Reminding me of a time when the march hare hid from spring and Alice was knocked up in the back room trying to get that needle into her scrawny black vein. With murderous silence shed stare down at her feet trying to remember, which side makes her bigger and which side makes her smaller. And then again which one was better?
Remind me some time to tell you of Dumbos black feather. Its about blind faith and belief.
Then theres the severed pieces of me. Pieces of my faulty personality. So it goes. It goes to show that when reasoning with the principles of existence we learn to love the cosmic irony. Keeping the F in life we live. And if you cant laugh with god, who can you laugh with ?
Lady like the morning come
Soft and silent in her ostentation
Has it not gone on for far too long
Long stemmed lady like the dawn
Wither not while winter lost
And the waning discontent
Wants the darkness brought by dusk
To hear her laughter once
Before again the mornings come.
And teach her how to jump
over her shadow and into the sun