What in the world caries as much weight as the essentialist
doctrine of free fates divined and resting fully blooming for the time of
sorrows divested of all ethereal mores. Spinning in free fall blasted out of
the sandcastles of years gone in the winds of ash cloud. Gone upon our merry
gales that spin us exaltingly towards merrier dawns. Heavy these burdens are
for the sapling that discerns not its ultimate game to be placed mysteriously
at the footsteps of these stains upon the glorious sheaths of Excalibur. They
that raise the crunching of the spoons for more tomorrow for more and more, the
morrow. Histories of personal drama unfold heroically as though we witnessed
the grandest majesties of the eras come faintly gleaning the hidden force
underneath our garments of stretching sinews. This crime that is what is in all
its fecundity of seeing sees not the seer’s vast sea undulating across the
millennia. We are swallowed in an interpenetrating fever that cannot be spawned
by the mind that responds. These days of ours countable on fingers of
leviathans, these numerable stumbling blocks paving our paths, these infinite
moments of joy upon the shores of peace, drenched in the gladness of ‘hi!’,
swelling eternally encompassing and radiating, finally to collapse again and
return to the dot. As little or as big, the optics of trickery retains
expansivity of the dimensions. We may inflate the littlest into a veritable
goliath and cosmos can be abstracted away to flappings of the leaves of
Membranes. In a moment cannot you entertain a trillion gods and goddesses? To
feast upon and stake braziers for an era of Dionysus? The opulent scarves they
wore bore not the emblem of our shattered temples. Our walls shorn asunder and
trampled with the beating drums of the boots we died and were buried under.
Beguiled have I been for many years upon fears. I hears many of tales that told
me stories I would not have rathered to have heard. But growth in the chrysalis
comes from liquefaction at first glance and reconstitution through thirst
quenched. Burnt stench of many corpses spilled from the blunted barriers of
cities I have raised and trumpeted through on my way to oblivion. Garnering
magical ecstasies that effuse out of the bosom of my holiest apical strife to
undo even the hardiest sallow protuberance that berates my heart. And I am
suddenly sent upwards across many distant lands and seas, shot as from a
Spanish naval cannon into the savage bush of nativity and measured by the
mundane mantle upon which I settled. But unbeknownst to my benefactors, I have risen
farther and farther than Newton could have predicted. I have sustained blow
after blow and I am wrecked and broken. I have become a lifeless husk of
transparency that floats enraptured. Clouds and azure shadows have I for company,
keeping pace at all times with the golden orbic chariots in my mind. Travelling
through the titanic spaces and times of many epochs, yet still young and
fledgling am I. When once I will have reached the end of time, I may reckon on
falling over into a deadly abyss and die, I’ll find the perennial spring of
being nonplussed at mine and still flowing, gently carrying many more
awe-struck children into eternity.