Once again, this is directed to the general public. Well, a subset of the general public, and thats a pretty small set. I think it has one member. To that member, check it.
Freestyling session II:
–0909
Ait. Ait. As all things fundamental this begins with nothing special, a leaflet, a letter for a spiky new vendetta. I wanted to make some measurements, and not of my instrument, but with it, my “human error” it turned out so horrific. And in the dead of night, before the death of night, my instrument just might, trick or treat my sight to the steady plight of that wondrous areopagite. He holds he knows not what nor not how, certainly not the here and now, but for the afterlife he’s certain, and in my mind I’m yearning for that certainty of gaze, that union face to face, that apple I embrace, that little life’s maze, but in this night a haze. Tell me, my muse, is this the choice I choose and if I do will I lose the prowess I claim I posses, the wonders within my breast? And if you do reply and we see eye to eye, I’m certain I will know the TRUTH that I’ve been told, please stop my being bold.
Now pray tell what’s the difference between the weed and incense, between the rectangle and the square, and the circumference I bear, that distance from my center, that makes me helter skelter. The truth will unfold, or so I have been told, in the beginning was the becoming, the change that is unchanging, like generations in the ghetto, or blossoms in the meadow. I think you crafty whore, the one I do adore, you who never bore, my muse and my door, you use these words enchanting and please with your incanting these spells so romantic they make a man demand it–the impossible, the senseless, the abstract and disconnected, a Manichean story setting. Fuck you but please come back, lest I wander off the wrong track.
–0927
This one was a bit over 15 minutes. Hey, 120% free.
(-_-_-)’;;+: the truck of thought
