Hello, dear reader.
Read dearly, for I welcomed you to do so sincerely. I’m under stress, but quite above the weather if such a thing makes metaphorical sense to you. Its that time when things just keep adding up and despite the lack of time you let it touch you not. Some people call it every day, but for my lucky self its just this and the next couple of months, assuming I prevail. I’ve given the short story some passing thoughts and decided to continue it after all, but it’ll have to be done some time during/after next weekend. This weekend I’ll attempt to lay down anything on the page before returning to my work. Muses, kick it to me.
–1732
Walking in a stilted pose, my thoughts are in repose, and though I’m tired I suppose that if pressed I’ll have to oppose your flowing prose with the heftiest of dose of lines ripped off from poe’s
anthology of verse, or worse I’ll make some comments on your tone so terse and your humor–cursed like a man comatose sleeping in a hearse, waiting to wake up–six feet under, wishing he never woke–illusions torn asunder.
You still think you have it all together, and though my thoughts are compacting under pressure, in comparison your style is still lacking in that precious measure, and that is a theft of the highest treasure known as trust between yourself and those you lust, a lack of honesty was the first and will be the final touch; of Death if you will, or as have you, or as you DON”T, I’ve had enough of hate, and I admit that in that I’m wont, it’s my undoing, my spate of reason, a hypocrisy, and hypocrisy is bloody treason.
–1752
1754–
So many years, and so few in comparison to a equal infinite of things temporal, it seems as though my and all ages are equally reared in ignorance, though unequally endowed with intelligence and though this seeming paradox at times smarts it also reassures an equal infinity of times. I hold no proof of the matters here so quaintly laid out, but I just as haughtily sing to you that such a proof would be meaningless to all but a few lost logicians. And for much the same reason I’d much rather hang with musicians even if their trade is more difficult and straining it produces more joyous mental (d)effects though its training, and can be appreciated by all save the deaf.
To say something positive of both, the deaf and the dumb are still better than blind, for one should not perceive the light only through the mind’s eye, its vision so easily disturbed by the slightest perturbations of emotions or so restricted in its ability for comprehension by excessive concentration. So what can I say about the blind except that they are in a sense dead to the world-at-large, lacking both preconceptions and the capacity for circumlocution they simply change their presuppositions and posit their positions through oh so many pokes and prods as to receive all our respectful nods. May she rest in peace, our lady of Justice, the same one who somehow rests on principles invisible, though quite sensible and arbitrary.
-1836
