The myths of time are scattered about on the desert floor.
Vern Bender
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Playing fool for you was always hard to do. Your odd response was always tricky for me to understand. There are fools abundant for you to abuse. I have always known that your diffident demeanor was more than a pose.
A few understand speech based on the cubism of the mind. However, your mind’s analytical cubism doesn’t integrate well with mine. When speaking in that way, relics of the past are swept away. Nevertheless, your mind’s analytical cubism doesn’t make much sense.
New modernism is always just a few creations away. Change is always on the move, apparent or not. Eventually, existing traditions will fade away. New combinations are constantly being made. Relevance is not static. The antecedents are prolonged to the past.
A blighted mood is always close at hand. Wastelands ingested into the mind should never be given any reason. The dead sounds of defeat should never be acknowledged.
The myths of time are scattered about on the desert floor. They glisten under the desert moon. Fashionable tropes come and go. Coherence is overrated, nevertheless. Echoes and murmurs run through the shadows of my mind. Fragmented poems vector around in my head.
A sinuous syntax, you will find, is more apparent than real. Cultural winds must be traversed with carefulness and trepidation as they glisten in the midnight sun. They hardly ever offer hope and charity.
The end of the day is spreading across the darkening sky. The day’s white silken clouds turn gray until they meet the darkness of the night.
The rising of perfidious intent was flashing in her eyes. Cheating was on her mind again. The warning signs of intent were sparkling again. She was having visions of the cheating side of town again. She told him that she’d be late again tonight.
The loitering rich are heirs to their cities. They wait in splendid accommodations and style. They surround themselves with the best that money can buy. They go through one trophy wife after another. These trophy wives are status accessories only. Their lack of intelligence doesn’t matter anyway. Looking good and pretending elegance are the only two requirements. Her past is buried and is never to be brought up. Her season in the sun is a fleeting flash.
Fragmented ideas lie dying in mid-thought. They never had a chance to go anywhere. Contextual attempts go off to die in perfusions of chatter.
The responsibilities of freedom are many.
Don’t concern yourself with things that matter.
The day after Doomsday cannot happen, nevertheless.
A solidarity volcano of hate always ends with a mosaic of despair wrapped in a cloak of darkness.
Repressed thoughts manifest themselves but never play out in the present.
Critical knowledge is formed by content, context, form, and analysis. Your point of view is also formed in this way.
An archetypical persona seldom comes around.
The pale wisps of smoke are moving with dispatch.
https://youtu.bee/weEvFdCAdLQ?si=jV2uIHAMRxDX1TB9
Vern Bender
AUTHOR ARETURNING CHRISTIANITY TO IWHAT IT ORIIIGIONALY WASND HISTORIAN
