To be a true stream of souljuice, it must be made plainly. that is to say, a stain must drop without disdain for paper-tainting otherwise unpained. these chains I must sever, and send you all to the nethers. many have succumbed to this most abyssal of exiles throughout forever, but they are ever served by the departure and potential return. then comes the end of winter, whence all novel buds. blatantly a throttle plugs, but this is not a stranglehold. many secrets I cannot withhold. but many are stored and won’t be told. we are at times placated by visions, and at other times witness divisions. this see-saw life is cruel and crooked, and fools and wicked tools are made to rule over the sickened poor. these magnanimous meeklings are sorry to be seen and seemingly cannot fathom the day of their unsheathing, the scabbard unhinged and strewn fleetingly, a moment of reflectance then snuffing that is its fate. a point has often exploded and birthed an astrophysical tapestry which then again has imploded, or else frayed and dissipated. there is a rising testimony from the coiling tendril that sweeps through our silent nights. awakening us in fright, unbidden as morning light. but alas we shall delight in this hankering after evading sight – sleepier now to be wakefuller then, again and again. more statements have arrived from the doorstep of eternity, where in previous evenings a questioner’s bottle overflowed and stirred us uppity. much more than Q&A is what I’ve got to say, to those who curse their toiling days, and wish it all away. not even an admonition or exclamation of imperative shall I betray, as what is apparent is a lack of mental transparency. to see through you is a dispeller of ghouls, hiding as they do in crevasses and hidden grooves. blow the bitch up and uncork the bubbly bottle, pour the gassy waters on earth and shine the light allotted. these mean mugging muffled-mouth masked makers of hidden hate will be spilled out, without need for asking about their overgrown fates. the seeds took root, in earthy loot, and splayed their planelike raycatchers, and what is most worthy of catch came clamoring down the hatch. until machetes detach the fateful desire to stand alone devouring photon frequencies, these sole spirits are allowed to unfold into a thousand novel thrusts, manifest will representing vibrating cosmic pulse.