Sum and Substance

And this is the truth of words, that we speak and think and write and dwell on the playing out of -- emotions, feelings, what is really real might not be so; if transposed or commingled with another word: a wanderer from no 'when' or 'where' In this world, see how it resembles the text (the fabric of its own existence, hardly brushing the surface, and fully penetrating into the cosm of Darkness and Lightness apart) adjacent to a galaxy of diction and a synonymous star-fangled lingo, uncensored and unread. Fascination exceeds interest because the telescope is broken (bifocal) and the view thereto is confusedly unknowing and doggedly stupid; the inception of course has moved away -- expanding, imitating the universe on a most paralleled state of dichotomy. Those things we love, those things we hold dear, are bound by the unloved, are bound by the unreal. All rational ideas become swept up and hurled aside in a maelstrom of archaic rhythms and tides Do puzzle such fun; old riddle words weigh a ton, but share the joy of nonsense in a strict, mathematical state: here made inapplicable by the indefinite combinations (and permutations; for biometric anomalies become solvable under stoic pretenses) Twenty-six letters few were formed (or born, who knew?) then symbols grammatic, numeric, prophetic, heiroglyphic, Magical creatures conquered by the chains of paper and ink; forcibly expressive without a single breath of air or blasphemous beating of blood. a Dusty Derelict (a book) derives the true nature of its power from a language of longevity; or are words merely symbiotes, latching on to their human host, absorbing the life and soul of the Self from Generations Ago to Generations ages hence.