Forgive my pedantic behaviour in a moment to be auspicious. I’m humbly before you in an act of kindness most modest. It excrutiates me utmost for the troubles of my own grand design.
Doth it not say, “Thou shalt not worship false idols”? Do I protest in bearing false witness? Well judge not lest ye be judged. I’m hyperventilative in my execution, and constantly come forth only to apologize, for the behaviour in which I procure from other beings. In 1984 when I wrote a story at summer camp about governing bodies controlling the whimsy of society, I only have myself to blame all of you. It is mere coincidence that word for word happens between stories, for we all form a mind that is one in the same.
Art imitates life which now imitates art. There is no need for originality when able consciousness can recall forth the moment when planes, commuted through the pastures of our own creativity. We must not shia way from our own self seriousness, monetizing the direction in which we hath been raised.
We must stop creating for there is no longer a need. In my own opinionated venture perhaps maybe is more forthright engaging than the history books of yesteryear. That history is ours to own, to retell, to emancipate the extreme notions we want to extrude publicly. Take what is theirs and make it theirs with our own guidance and wisdom; Then truly ours will shine.
If I must stop, then I urge others as well, to react in perpendicular fashion. Shut down your system of nervousness and flee to the box in which we are pushed into. Do not speak words that others speak for they are not that, which is of originality. It has been many years since english has been the main focus of how we speak. Do not attempt to create your own dialect. The melting pot of words we’ve used in every light was to be bastardized by the common riches. Cracking the whip on what we can and can’t exfoliate from our lips.
To cease in bullheadery, to desist in the wank that legal paper deposits through our personal space, preventing us from pleasing ourselves to the outside world. spreading our thoughts on the pastimes which we enjoyed in youthfulness recanting in our own word for word in what we recall.
Do we not deserve what we hath been defined to have? If not I, than who else will uphold the mantle of common decency. I am but a messenger with postcards left, handed to me to be spoken in my own tongues. I cannot teach the ways in which I journey forward, but I write to you in earnest, which became indicative of the reality that I must step back. I must leave consciousness to respell. To rework my aurtism. I dare not speak, I shall only be left to thinking until a notice comes further. I hope we all continue to look to the sky.
And if you follow me on twitter, (that would be) great.
Post received by antonymous donair.