Grammatical blunders, offensive diction, spelling errors and misplaced commas; how often will they 'dictate' the 'mean' of the moment? Very little, proper arrangement is more an arrogant underscore of the willingness to explore the very essence of 'explanations' along with the inherent drive towards verbalized perfection.
This matters...? Yes, yes, everything matters in the world of gadgetry.
I want my point to be made and made well, to whom and for what reason...? Matters not.
This is an exercise to expand the arena of November, in which I attempted to slit the veins of my intellectual confinement and share the profuse, dark red banalities of all I curtail in the wake of altruistic virtue.
"It's never enough until your heart stops beating, the deeper you get, the sweeter the pain; don't give up again until your heart stops beating." -Sumner
The truth here is quaint, among all things considered. Triviality has not been allowed to accumulate in this congress of 41 year old thoughts, or so I think. But with a cerebral cortex that runs at a constant high RPM, what am I to do if I cannot analyze and decipher all I am deducing...? Nothing is forming with a lick of coherency, and so therefore, I am destined to falter. So, type on... as though I need another project.
And I do... I do. I crave it like dry skin seeking perfumed oil.
There is a constant sweltering that beckons damn near daily; I would enjoy (ever-so-much) to extract and stop these distractions, and instead, understand them - more.
So, fuck all the 'Eat, Pray, Love' shit, let us serve up some significant portions of truth and therein we may find an answer to stand behind (or two or three...).
2015 has arrived and with it - some ice cold fucking weather. Those sweaters from Ma are in some strange and dubious way, an omen for the week that has followed Christmas, 2014. I wear them daily now, when in all the years previous (at least twenty) I had not owned but one that I wore out of necessity. This has happened before; she has had a lifelong propensity for clairvoyant occurrences and I have been witness to it more than once.
As I sit here, closing out the final moments of this first day of January, 2015, I am reminded of the power that backs dedication and how fortunate I am to have remained diligent to the dumping of such ideas at this ripe old age of 41. May these next 364 days find me willing to cooperate with revelations of significance and more than willing to clutch the hand of 'uncomfortable' in order to trigger the change I crave.
"What matters will be how well you walked through the fire" -Bukowski
I'm walking, and half the time, I fuckin' run.
This matters...? Yes, yes, everything matters in the world of gadgetry.
I want my point to be made and made well, to whom and for what reason...? Matters not.
This is an exercise to expand the arena of November, in which I attempted to slit the veins of my intellectual confinement and share the profuse, dark red banalities of all I curtail in the wake of altruistic virtue.
"It's never enough until your heart stops beating, the deeper you get, the sweeter the pain; don't give up again until your heart stops beating." -Sumner
The truth here is quaint, among all things considered. Triviality has not been allowed to accumulate in this congress of 41 year old thoughts, or so I think. But with a cerebral cortex that runs at a constant high RPM, what am I to do if I cannot analyze and decipher all I am deducing...? Nothing is forming with a lick of coherency, and so therefore, I am destined to falter. So, type on... as though I need another project.
And I do... I do. I crave it like dry skin seeking perfumed oil.
There is a constant sweltering that beckons damn near daily; I would enjoy (ever-so-much) to extract and stop these distractions, and instead, understand them - more.
So, fuck all the 'Eat, Pray, Love' shit, let us serve up some significant portions of truth and therein we may find an answer to stand behind (or two or three...).
2015 has arrived and with it - some ice cold fucking weather. Those sweaters from Ma are in some strange and dubious way, an omen for the week that has followed Christmas, 2014. I wear them daily now, when in all the years previous (at least twenty) I had not owned but one that I wore out of necessity. This has happened before; she has had a lifelong propensity for clairvoyant occurrences and I have been witness to it more than once.
As I sit here, closing out the final moments of this first day of January, 2015, I am reminded of the power that backs dedication and how fortunate I am to have remained diligent to the dumping of such ideas at this ripe old age of 41. May these next 364 days find me willing to cooperate with revelations of significance and more than willing to clutch the hand of 'uncomfortable' in order to trigger the change I crave.
"What matters will be how well you walked through the fire" -Bukowski
I'm walking, and half the time, I fuckin' run.
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