Legends of My Reconstruction

Elusive allusions make a mockery of memory (maybe). Obtuse allusions are oft ignored. Lost in the shuffle of cards, the shuffle of feet. The miles we walk before we sleep.

The frail limitations of physicalities impact all (eventually).

You may think I’m drowning in a stream of consciousness. I’m not (though you may think I’m at sea).

Points are made eventually.

How many ripples are made in reality through force of will? Are recollections blurry?

No more unmade: remade. (Being demolished is not all it’s cracked up to be, believe me.)

I recollect my thoughts. I gather my things. I gather my thoughts. I reconstruct unseen places and non-existent spaces. I take walks in imaginary worlds of my own creation. Not madness, merely research.

I marinate in the flotsam and jetsam of related subject matter. (Subjectively speaking, all matter is related.)

I walk around the edges, like a hound of Tindalos, looking for the proper angle, looking for the way in, mindful of the way out. (Sometimes, the only way out is through.)

My mind clears. My vision blurs. My words ready. My reality forms.

Until next time, I bid you, dear reader adieu.







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