(I note, for a supposed "jobs President", he sure has rather summarily fired a LOT of people.)
I was thinking earlier, about the usual hullabaloo and such, the popular kayfabe, this "how are you?" and so forth, "I would prefer sex now" or "I need some freeware tax stuff".
Nothing will broach the shell, and if I were perhaps, to say, recognize myself in the mirror, I have kind of an instantaneous throwaway response.
"Your mother wrote the Amazon review of me, dear."
So nothing permeates, and its just me and the goldfish bowl of the soul. These people are broken, I wot, waiting for a cause to die for. As for me, I've picked my hill, such as it is.
If you functioned for want of money, and money, more and more, then in your end you will realize you never had enough, and inevitably, no amount would have satisfied. It was such, a hole to be filled, but never filled.
And the horses of war? Do the war horses eat up all the grain supply and leave the populace gaunt? A stew of millet and war horse to succor the thoroughfare.
If compassion never cast a pallor across your heart, then surely, the cold will get you, and your own sword will pierce you, your own word will echo in your ears.
They turn green. I saw it. And they try to hump your leg.
My soul it is all well with thee.
Oil's well that ends well. As You Bike It. Busy Warning Nineveh, so feed the dog for me. A Mudslinger Night's Dream.
"Wherefore art thou?"
"This is who I am, yo; this is who I be. Just like old school rapper Schooly-D." I can brook not to have learned much, but sensed so much more, just like the ungraspable fog of the truth, to feel it on your hand as fetid ghostflesh, but never to be able to just for once and ever hold onto it.
"Capulet one, you a hard rap sanger. Capulet two, yo, I give you the fanger!"
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