Like inner dodgeball—to escape self, watching self. A thin
line between normality and boredom. Silent sounds, bigger remorse, chasing the
fence. Life is one grand diet—mortar and straw, work and keychains. A soul
needing the playground, a problem inside, likeness akin to damages; social
watermarks, fretting the roofs, sewing a birdsong. Trying to get there, always
getting to some place, with reality knowing those places are always waiting;
soap and talcum, water and wine, dungeon and person. Throat singing some asylum,
wrestling the existential light, sad over mandatory anxiety; must shut off the
faucet. Repurpose life, select
meaning, with a need for an absoluteness of character—a property worthy of the
nation, to pledge to, to surrender all woes to; the greatest madcap is the
absolute maxim, to locate the gagster, to feel rich for knowing, and drained
for reaching. Rethinking Hinduism.
