The fantasy was to fly. To soar. Like falcons and eagles. It would come to pass to make its rounds
in nature: clashes, cacophonies, life, traumas, and such.
Meeting was made easy, uneasy at points, just for
searching.
Mental mops. Brittle thoughts. Trying can cause
animosity. Days wandering
crevices—wrinkling the forehead, master of insecurities, winner of the Great
Chaos: it remains inaudible.
Asking to receive answers; Knocking to receive
entrance; Silent to feel silence—as it looms into loudness.
Removing self before waging complaints: it seems more
coherent. One never needs undo media.
It sounds odd—to dislike the person, and admire the
craft in the person; better, to like the person, and disagree with the
behavior—like living out paradox, or oxymoronic emotions. Most can’t analyze the nature, and make it
reasonable, nor rational.
The caves are endless—trekking mazes, refused at
points, received at other moments, as it appertains to life.
Most terrific association, as it builds resistance,
extracting forms of excellence.
Acute vision. Sagelike intellect. Eager to trespass
lots,
refusing to transgress mountains.
