Artists made musicology, so natural to sing it. Centuries begging fate: I fell in line. To presume innocence; to die one first breath. I treasured forests, conversing with leopards. It was not easy. As it turns out, every human habit faces addiction. (Over turquoise-fuchsia, to become hebetated, to expect a bulb to fail—such wattage—uncertain voltage—loving was always easy.) By solution we mean to invert behavior, to remove option, by flooding sensing: no greater gift than to resist in Love’s honor. (Everything comes that it may end: such endings can be terrific. With souls seduced by science, enchanted by religion, to have adored while received. Sunshine passion; to have cherished city, country, and jungle. To know for dance (her ache), to know for sacredity (her cadence, or to know for wildness (her inclination). Such demarcation, boundaries, expectation, to have pledged years. Some will be late. Traffic with be gridlocked. Many will believe it is morning. In actuality, night is with us, night has been with us. I was displeased with technology. I learned to live with it. I would say, I learned to accept it. Nevertheless, it never required my acceptance. It came. It saw. It took and conquered. My acceptance meant nothing. Indeed, it sounds harsh. Truth tends to sting. And Love was powerful, blended into elements, such treacherous happiness. To live for reflection, palms grieving, wrestling with conscienceness. Dreams are similar. They come around in literature. A child says things adults have heard.
