To begin with. A certain amount of truth can be heard across the way. In a sphere overlapping this world. A whisper calls forth imaginations in the mind of a man. Conjuring a rather extreme obsession from the inception of his conception. A true gift measured in the gratuitous amounts of free thinking. Most notable are the references bestowed by the eclectic predecessors of the extended phenotype.
Holding a course indifferent to the sophisticated pursuits of many that surround this territory of minds. A voracious appetite quelled only by the hesitation to moor too long in a harbor of lost ships. Colliding against the docks. Undulating waves break patterns of rhythm. Reflecting a trance bathed in the silver creases folded by the moon.
Burned paper floats into the sky, climbing faster than any smoke. Limited by only it's dimensions, it loses no momentum in it's self immolation. Erasing into fragments concealed by a rather clever chaos mimicking memories.
A rather lengthy subtraction process reveals a denominator unlike any other. The need to harness a bondage is in and of itself. Released from gravity, and close to the warm dawn. Not sure what to make of it really.
Sitting here in this mind. Not too terribly clean but watching the dust settle from time to time, produces relaxation. Allowance is credible to those who work for it. No hurry. Just something to tend to. To sit in. To observe. To struggle with. Ever present until the peace is constructed by the pieces.
No pessimism. No true optimism either. A dispersing vector. Revisiting nodes and sending out rhizomes. Processing raw thought and fabricating a reality stitch by stitch.
The yolk that sustenance is fed upon. This is not for human consumption. For the revelation would destroy the binary world. It is the ambrosia of the mindless.
Long since it passed over these lips. Though the words spilled resemble nothing of the sort, every lie is a depiction of a valid construction.
A tall Hunter wanders the woods. Not to take, but to be present and follow. The gratification of following the trail. The bent and broken resemble so many, but only the Hunter sees the signs. Grass arches and holds the hidden. That which is waste is signature to a presence. One that follows the course of destinies. The canopy spreads wide and vision expands. Bringing into focus the populated meadows, he turns and goes back inwards.
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