The Hut Has become a House

What lives are dynamics such crucial components underlying our relations. While unsung or prominent features such softer whispers—to outline situations to dig and resent for this proof is unusual; at radiant eclipse so fathomed as dirges where filth is often appealing. While allure may sparkle or repulsion may live we find darker irrelevance; as a child watching loosely or an adolescent far too wise to become an adult where they ask for certain behaviors—those indicative of his life those written about him while this person enacts and dances; such sweet misery such allegiance to particular crafts while a poet becomes claustrophobic; those tales about our kind those rumors about our erotica as most grow weary of ready made packages. To become ghostly or to become argumentative where any behavior adds up to a given theorem. Those boxes for us those unrelenting cubicles at something too crucial and too fastidious; our social welts while a man reneges so gentle into war-fires; sweltering bashfully or boiling ice where it becomes justifiable through needs; as lives a shoebill coddling a weaker child such commonsense to permit the stronger seed to kill the weaker. We call it cruel we call it inhumane but survival becomes for the fittest. How have I adored science even ignored science in such dusty horizons? The scope is extraordinary, this tender essence, where we analyze and feel certain actualities; such sophistication for some, while driven into characters, where it becomes hell to scrape at our cores; so given to hostilities or so close to those lines where one might be testy or unsettled; such a given goad while a horse kicks where we train until he stops.

I haven’t been clear in this rosette field where I aim to expose an operation. It was once quite crucial this mental need where we require human compassion; but such aggravation by something so evident inasmuch as reflecting our deeper requirements; this space we live in, those days at wondering, if but to analyze our reception; to give back this insecurity or to efface those consensus but America is filled by puritans; such face value while something is in place where many are becoming excommunicated. But I have not revealed this topical treatise where it centers upon treatment: (to frown upon a specimen, while said specimen frowns back, this becomes horrific); our days fighting systematics, our brains unfolding laundry, where many see me as too over-there; indeed, the grass is lime-like, the portrait was inspected, and though we give rancor we are quite displeased to receive it; so a person retreats at a seeing perspective where nothing appears safe; our cut gems our deadly insecurities where one needs insistence.

This wild leaf those outrageous vines while reluctantly feeling unclean: to stumble into clarity or to think with precision becomes a reason to become angry—but seeing every emotion and trying to come to terms while feeling every emotion—this blue lake, this kleptic violin, this fire flute!

What makes us clash—so harsh our intake of others—while this comes by means? To sorely endear ourselves, to pluck and prod scenery, as critical, semi-controlled agents. One comes to mind, a diehard Protestant, while blessing me, nonetheless. It hit so radically; it was quite emphatic: I realized people are living with holy shadows. But treatment, so unrealized, so uncivil at integrals. Where one must reflect if but to understand while cultic isolation seems defeatist; for it lives innately and it screams at its public where one might have a cursed countenance; while securities might be ruffled our piths might become topsy-turvy some are quite durable; this everlasting battery those circuits shooting wildly as instincts neb forward. It comes with anxieties while some are trained where such training is also a war-cry.