Another witless witness to what not and in between. Thus I forage my existence in an attempt at successfully communicating my dire plight. Focusing on the positive, the struggle to achieve ANYTHING is somewhat admirable in and of itself, if one has the empathy to comprehend such virtues. Like red hot vomit rolling down the avenue, time splatters forward in a great gush of the past cascading in all directions not yet beknownst. What words can I cry to validate that which is so much more than I can ever be? Like a kitten mewing inside the cupboard in feigned anguish, my percieved situation is further beyond trivial than I can possibly imagine. Yet I participate completely, a dufus in a tsunami of me own regurgitated experiences.
The beauty of perfect love
Is always out of reach
Like the freedom of a dove
It's the nature of the beast
Everything that is to come
And all that came to cease
Is exactly what we're made of
Thus the greatest is the least
"Time softly there
Laughs through the abyss of radiance with the gods."
-William Vaughn Moody. (1869–1910)
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