Lazy from C-Z

 Don't be afraid Of the things one would say Just to lure you to fray You are not bird of prey; Don't be okay If you want things to stay Just to lose your own way You are not a grenade To fusillade For someone else;

Trying to make sense of slowly kicking things into gear. Making it make do is harder than it sounds. Feels like a carousel of wanting to go all in and making a mess of it and starting all the way back to zero; tail bites snake, man bites dog. It seems as if this purpose has no purpose tangentially, but it is slowly working its way back up, I do believe. Only in the chaos of it all does one permit itself the meaning of its purpose, to pick it up amongst the debris while all else is suffering intraordinarily, as it should be. No matter what the chaos brings, even the brittle mortality herein that is slowly withering.

 I could have found this perfect soul to navigate this narrow goal that never seems to disappear and yet did disappear when I needed it most beyond black trees to which I aspire beyond bright roads where glories transpire only to dream above and beyond eating me up inside day in and out knowing that that happiness is probably now someone else's instead of mine when I could have earned it waiting to live waiting to die only to give only to cry once and again for the longest time

A long week ahead. Sometimes you just allow the momentum to propagate. to marinate, by and for itself. Better than being a carpenter without a saw. I had a dream that woke me up, almost sweating profusely. Knew I had rested enough that the body had to rebel, once again. It was another dream about Ainhoa. And should I even discuss this dream? A dream that we know always ends on a deadend is not much for conversation. Only stirring up echoes of the past that never was and never will be, no matter how much I would want it willed into fruition. To suffer in silence is preferrable, and suffer and suffer some more, ad infinitum.

Quantum was just the beginning; quantum was just a guess, a formulae, and apparently not. Somehow the solution was resolvable with simple rationales, complex algorithms. It was always the purpose on the back of someone's mind. But does it really matter whose mind it really came from? Perhaps not. Ideally it would be someone less socially averse. Hoarding such knowledge could prove fatal in the gran schemati. So I hand out my faith into someone else's share, and in doing so, surrendering what little is left of thoughts begotten. Now work is done to implement it, nurture over nature, even if in the end nature always wins.