2412
The great content filling days of the sublime when is the work to begin ... already started someone else put this up in the fine print. The great ego strutting about on the page the world where no mean figure enters without the preordained suffering and premature death at hand.
Know the scriptwriter well. Liszt.
Banal little murking out off to the side. The crescendo creeps in somewhere. Always with the click and the clack, the rock beat. Different rhythm flows on outward style bind. No slow lake swirling deep. All surface material taking the dribble into the wastelands of unwanted propaganda. So long as the sketch is out there coming in. To have the means to procure. So much more leeave the head reeling for explanations no longer there.
Stop to slow and praise the object, reflect on its own coming about prior to the ability to think not only but act.