Nonchalance in the face of ultimate grief and despair, now that's a sweet thought, thought in the face of reality. The problem with such thinking is that it has no effect on the pain threshold of its thinker. Pain loves thought. Thought hates pain. Surrender. In the end there will be no choice, only surrender. It isn't a word that history respects, is it? Rather it represents defeat, and often at the hands of some form of ultimate good concept. Its not the sort of description one would like to have tagged to ones toe. But it is best.
There is no reason to write this except that the superfluous nature of it is somewhat intriguing. And it is a good typing exercise. Besides there is always the possibility that something unexpected may arise from all this ambiguity. Actually, the possibilities are infinite. Time is not, or at best, it is an illusion, rising from the finite.
Words around words, watching for a word that helps get the wording worded properly, confessing no relationship to either their stacking or their crashing as per each and every wording worded, and only as it pertains to the watching of words and their ultimate coming undoneness.
C.E.L. 2001
When images arrise from the ambiguity of abstract shape, tease them into existence. When perceived they may wish to grow, you will find out soon enough, as you tickle and prod them to believability. So many images never seen. Wanting something preconcieved, instead of recieving what's before us. Looking, not seeing. Tis our plight.
