To not sound too egoistical and, by probability, too self-aggrandizing, we have decided to eliminate the symbol of "I". Although it may sound cowardly literal, it's effects are, in certain, more than what one usually absorbs. It is like having the mundane efforts of pinching a small soda can and whispering "crunch" to it; it is much more than what we can imagine. Really, the straightforward boring hidden interpretation is so simple that it could be squeezed into the box known as "additions". There is really no extra servings to it; it's an excuse.
Tie up a rock and await the sounds of its replies...That does not sound nice. Wait. The torture of the soulless "being" or the sound? or maybe the quality of understanding of the person tying---in another identification, it is not enlightening.
It is an exercise, or for a set of words naturally invented and with vague essence, it is a reincarnation of thought. It, the thread. It's a spill of thought---a vomiting secretion of everything being ruinously dumped into the floor.
If we collect the remains and recess of the contaminated world, would the bleeding halt and would it rise up cleansed? Would this big bob talk to momma and show eternal appreciation? (Eternity is another region of exploration, so ignore it.) We know you know it is "no". Little timmy will simply play in his pile of sand the next day. So what do we do? We kill the child? Ew, no. That's a defiance to the objective; a known negative divagation. You are the Janitor so you will clean it everyday.
The cat died so we are paused. We, then, start shouting and complaining to alarm the available officer. But listen, it's not a matter of emotion, it's a matter of resolution. We simply want to "kill" things and strike the newest flavor of aroma. It's what we are, a bored child.
Tie up a rock and await the sounds of its replies...That does not sound nice. Wait. The torture of the soulless "being" or the sound? or maybe the quality of understanding of the person tying---in another identification, it is not enlightening.
It is an exercise, or for a set of words naturally invented and with vague essence, it is a reincarnation of thought. It, the thread. It's a spill of thought---a vomiting secretion of everything being ruinously dumped into the floor.
If we collect the remains and recess of the contaminated world, would the bleeding halt and would it rise up cleansed? Would this big bob talk to momma and show eternal appreciation? (Eternity is another region of exploration, so ignore it.) We know you know it is "no". Little timmy will simply play in his pile of sand the next day. So what do we do? We kill the child? Ew, no. That's a defiance to the objective; a known negative divagation. You are the Janitor so you will clean it everyday.
