And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
To count the stones losing countis the sense of our life: the algebraof our displacements.To follow paths losing sense is the circumvolution, the evolution: the logicof our moments. But. No.There is no symmetry in our acts.Never the chance of steps that surprise usto salt.Our time machine. Forward.Never backward the meat machine.No turning back. No turning back.There is no remedy: deathis an incurable asymmetry.Huge is the ticking of the Clock butbut our time has the clutch, the vortexthe saltwater of a wave that covers us.It reshapes and hollows out the face, like sandrobs us of our flesh.
Of Time and Goats
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To count the stones losing countis the sense of our life: the algebraof our displacements.To follow paths losing sense is the circumvolution, the evolution: the logicof our moments. But. No.There is no symmetry in our acts.Never the chance of steps that surprise usto salt.Our time machine. Forward.Never backward the meat machine.No turning back. No turning back.There is no remedy: deathis an incurable asymmetry.Huge is the ticking of the Clock butbut our time has the clutch, the vortexthe saltwater of a wave that covers us.It reshapes and hollows out the face, like sandrobs us of our flesh.
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Share your dreams and they will be inspired. Plant seeds of knowledge and they will grow and reproduce beyond measure.