There's that, indeed, so called.
A world.
I forgot I didn't care.
But rather now its only a verse of escape,
I found my prayers to answered in the worst sort of way.
This madman won't break, concealed in his confidence.
No consolidation.
Its Babylon afraid to crumble back into the narrow river.
Oh so good the complexities of chaos, give it to me baby,
rape me, bleed me, the fat woman has sung.
NO! I must proceed, I am called to grace, says I.
I heard the silent thunder, that gentle enormity, the blissful
twilight
of dependent phenonema.
Tathagata, GO BEYOND, yet this self pervades, into orgasmic
power and
an epic of the ego, into a portrait of folly.
I know I know yet I know I don't, a uniform schism not
made for the logic of man.
Set the cause for the effect to rise, but not before the insanity
pleads its last cry.
