Delusion. Diffusion of ideas to realities that control option parameters and impetus for resolution and resolvement, as more of the same continues to pile up ditto marks like grains of wheat colored sand. My immediate pile is enabling this translocutionary effort in to the ditto marks of your eyes. I spread the night before me as the reflection of a dream I live from moment to momentum pulled decisions that arise from the debris of the previous reflected dream and pursuit of its tantalizing looks, knowing smile and come hither touch of time. The future never looked so good. Buckle up and drive, I’m just the chauffer in this font, and I go where your eyes lead you, so follow on ahead of me.
My itchy trigger finger poking, prodding, digging into the sphere of my sensory touch with the physical plane, is most randomly insistent, and I’m getting tired of it. I fight the good fight and put forth no aggression or assault upon the affliction, but bathe and salve its needy spirit with the unguents of stoic determination and knowledge of the damage such actions would, in truth, inflict. Carry on, my wayward sun, and feed life into the planet, although I could do without the poisoned ivy, even leafless in the spring. Life in the no passing zone (as opposed to the fast lane) plants me right here (at any given moment) just quickly enough to try and figure out where I am and what should I do, although options are, indeed, limited. I’ve got to hand it to you, don’t drop it, no matter how much it itches to have your own finger scratch it.
As for the show, make your choice according to what I’ve seen, but the best I can do is it offer you the winner. Thank you for your vote of confidence and continuation to the actual display, following herewith, hitherto fore, subsequently and soon to be displayed in a visual context near you. With slate of hand, I write across the chalk my evening presents , (con)currently duping a look to action upon multiple endeavors within the parameters of simultaneity, and then back before you know it, to end this sentence here. I’m adjusting the presentation of visual selection, recently scanned from out of the frames they have been in for thirty years or so, and I carry back to carry on with you. It’s the least I can do for your agreeing to actually read these words by, in (f)act, doing so. Your guess is, as usual, is better than mine as to where all this will end up, as you have the option and ability to glance on ahead while I am forced to type as quickly as I can think to action just to keep up. Here, have a bite of chocolate to help me through.
Drawn and quartered, my chosen creation acquires a new interpretation in perceptive configuration, one fourth at a (double)time. Nip and tuck the view into the bedrock stable of your own aspective resonance of the situation. The goods are in and the silence is deafening, but we shall continue on as if you can’t hear it anyway. Perspective anomalies maintain respective considerations, each in its turn and all for the best (we can hope for). I attend the echoed remnant and double the fun, hypotenuse to its mirrored point, right on down the line, square by square, and behold the tangible vision in the flowered array it now assumes. Elegant simplicity, but nothing to sniff at.
Time to do something else. Do carry on and I will catch up (you well know) later on before you started. Pardoned me.
You’ve waited quite patiently for my return and I just came on to let you know I’m not back yet. Spoon that from your flower and make the fabric of the night look marketable.
Okay, you can open your eyes now. Do four halves make a whole lot of interesting pictures? Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t bother. I hope your evening was as passable as mine, otherwise I’d still have to wait for you. And, while I’m passing space biding for the time to dilate, I’ll just keep writing. You can adjust by looking at the pretty pictures. A win-win situation from the get go illusion. Now.
From this I wrote about making: