25 September '16
Today is both the alpha and the omega of time and space – comprehend this and you will know the meaning of eternity.
I oscillate. Credulity’s bonds spark free contextually burdensome obligations, fomenting the larvae of mites that blind silo climbers fall from. I comprehend that of Altamont. The sea of Sopheles. Where is etenity on vacant soul rocks, colliding hemisphere’s righteous supper, feast of Vernon. To the might of revulsion’s door I trevasse, taking only the ear, seeing not, but hearing, yes, I listen toward ambiguity, strife of contiguity, and conquer the damners of light. Forever is never, and never is always. And I care little for the rapscalions of reason, I care for none but the water carrier, leave the sultans to their dim respite, I glimmer in the hegemony of the auspicious warrior, the gladiator of times perdition.
A cacophony of yellow bird sonatas, mayhem, I reel in the injustice of tolerant eagles, soar the foothills of egalitarian aloofness. It is not the wound that kills the viper, but the sorceresses blade in hominy drawn at eternity from seeming under current savage translucence. I am the earth, the land of despots. Not of, but as. Take care of angularity. Remove the equations. All adds up to the sum of 42-9, should I make it of that, of my word, so true also. I am reckless in abandon, free in dissolved translucence. Questioned, I have none to answer. Examine me with tongs of customary revelance? None prosper but the mill workers saw, set to the occasion, to slip the truth into the filigrees.
Life in the context of being the rational sorceres’s pot boiling stew on fish heads causeway reams dockets of sounder ictotherian mandates. The bottom of the belly laughers bursts from ingests of rectitude salivates, slade sun acrophilea, debree of culminations of nearsited bullypulpit menageries. Follow the ignomy to Salon, near to sunken Davali, in the fifth latitude, find the silver trumpet of Cantor buried in havens moss trucket, and ride seldom sojourned paths to satiated atrophy. Beauty is perceived, lust contrived by abstract coherence of masked devocates. Travel the abiss of since truth, why regress to mirth. Realise rather than to know, that is my octagonal paradox.
In desperation, I move thru the mist, of moments cast aside by reflections of some bittersweet calamity, that pales now as the true darkness has fallen across the land of the giants.