One lone untamed badger can leave my destitude and looking for more rice.

Written by hoisumguo on May 17th, 2009

Pain thresholds are different for each individual. Going on day six of this delusional drilling into ones determination and measurement of ones one will or understanding of ones own limits of anguish. It does bring happy thoughts of apples and running rabbits every so often. Although that too seems to be marred by an occasional round of golf being played through the happy seen by an influx of German tourists promoting Japanese beer substitute. Some things should be purposefully dampened by an arbitrary swig of something ‘near’ like. Ok strike that, last prose, as most likely it will incite many near-thoughts.

One does tend at this point to appreciate many things that prolonged distress can promote from within the fathoms of the consciousness. Not that I have anything prolific to state at this point more so than any point of my meanderings, but its still allows for additional input streams in to the collective. If a multitude of monkeys can manage to manifest the even most meager montage of memoirs, then unbeknown to them maybe its also can be calculated to produce an infinite collections of meanderings bound by a state of all encompassing unrest.

Poems and songs are the ultimate in the artistic expression of composition. And I am no poet, not no composer¬†( not that it had to be stated, as it is painstakingly obvious in the lack of any methodology or understanding of basic English, or ability to construct a non-run on sentence, or near-sentence ). But I take some joy ( obviously ) in creating a semblance of words that may in its entirety, look roughly like a formalic narrative, yet be nothing more than random words or thoughts. I do no proclaim to care or sympathize with those who are so viamently structured in their ways or enforcement of the universe as it is oppressed to be. I do not mean any disrespect nor malice towards those of that type or other creative influences in any manner. I do just enjoy the wonderful entrance into ‘The Random’ or ability to freely construct nothingness, and ask to be left to my vices without agitation.

To many a sorted blue fin of whale or nest of a swallow searching for the last glint of sunshine as it is snuffed from the pool of unstars and near-light, it is assured that instigation and observation of nothingness always allows for something to happen.

For that in the end is what it is all about. The use of the multicolored palet of language to paint the abstract but incessant blotch upon a canvas. Like steam on a bowl of rice having definition but meaning only to those who choose to gaze until they see something….

 

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