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  • Writer's pictureAmelia Nicol


Never knots and considerate leaving frames behind for the references of those few triangular instances rather than double taking back on themselves, run about and reconsider everything again. It’s all got to be, then, that all or supposedly definitive pointed constructionist delegation forbidding itself the limits of disintegration and the necessary destruction to the building of ultimate forms. Methods for autodidactic memorabilia: those intuitively wandered seconds already belong to someone else’s study anyways, and those catches of vagrant material scheming were just someone else’s scrap and they want them back, now. And the pearls, too. Origination arguments and telegraphic imagery perceptions typed to a machine, imaginary limits to the stories the back of my mind would formulate to explain conceptions in reading and writing without the aloud. Aloud, quiet and stoic accidental stately collisions with the unfortunately corrosive limits in etiquette and temperamental cleaning about the problems of consciousness and the science of impression. Physiologically, dis-allowance has the haunting curiosities and anomalies or accidental perseverance dependencies and grievance displayed as mythological psychic non-sense. Seemingly littered experience hindrance or some pseudo-Luddite conspiracy mongered missing fruit evocations for direction against automatically taking. Whatever these needs decide themselves for today; what the sort of easy short lists always miscalculated and all these lonely hours and deserving pity for victim-less criminality cover so easily. Don’t expect it to hang around, trying to decompose in ways that are actually constructive to the ever present hypocritical mythological hypnosis. Enclosures of compassionate substance and compartmentalization of partially digestive failures; features of being fed from certain tuning and listening for interruptions from self. Hanging upside-down waiting for nothing and the noting peripheral to indicate direction or drawing promises from leaky stones. Minuteness and perseverance at least, all those words and pictures and applications in thoughtfulness and experimentation in experience and conditioning are actually useful. Finding ideas of worth for indentured services or wage slavery diving disciplinary accomplishments for knowledge and resolute solitary individualism. Evaluation surroundings and the awful slowly examination praxis wringing believable make shift illusions or those actual common factors in anything but. Oddity reality and the criminal absolutely free dead and penitence machinery. Concealment contempt and secrecy as if to strangers any place should have revealed itself; the insults to imaginary lie detection and assumptions of others space or narratives. Always that bother lately, loan self respect for this hopeless embodiment of humors and nervousness. There’s really no hope, the contraptions designed to destroy convert any situation to a dilemma narrative against even its own differentiation. Emotionally won grounds for further degradation of actual interactions for the cause of those held out by their own ignorance and excuse in it. And any excuse to call forward the already waiting condemnation plaints, easily rested on such trying grounds. Any advantages have already been taken and disappeared as quickly as their usefulness expired in an instant of instinctual confusion or distraught caring. Caring for the judgment of their own ideas of need in other beings, trying to grip themselves for some involvement that they wish was theirs and tearing out the grief in lengths of knots tied in metaphorical demise. Dis-chord and its readily seen ramifications in perception and the interactions with those around you becoming bickering and strife with those outside ‘the struggle’. We chord ourselves off for the waves that may never hit a certain frequency, in hopes this destructive nature of ours will conceal or heal itself entirely someday. Earth will be better off without us; dogs would already be upright if it weren’t for us, those global temperatures wouldn’t need the fabrication efforts without our insights. Catches all of us as if any threatened postulate would be left to itself, as if every point of consistency must have been used somewhere else by now and we should know that our species isn’t really helping anything in our best of intentions. and we should know that There’s hope. or else.

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