Distemper of Distractive influence
There is much to be said for distractions, little to be had by them possibly, yet, the peculiar slope of the back, the quick lift and divide. The almost ecstatic recurved, all so much so like the retort of the bowed warrior, all so ready to fire upon. A peach, a pomegranate, a nectarine, the most choice sweetened, ripe and delectable of apples. The golden delicious.
To pour even any such upon, to mar the delicacy of, well, God He may be, yet, did He instigate by inspiration. The delights to be decanted out over His creation. The honey, the maple they are delectable stuff, yet even cream and chocolate, the icing upon it or caramel. Surely this, this is enough for any man, do we better the form of the pear with coating, not so, only, said, the icing upon what cannot be added too.
To watch and wait. Ready to make a meal, even to put your hand and to sample the delights of, and add insult to injury? What is best?
To each theirs.
This!
It is the peach! The nectarine, the pear, The golden delicious. All this, the curvature of form. What algebra has His hand. What arithmetic. Ask the stars!
To paint and draw. How long in endless distemper of distraction do all these things, these shapes, thrown so haphazard about sometimes like a lazy scribe, and all where we do see.
And, in all moments of passion and in all things in the epiphany of the throws. What is the mind of man and what can he add. This is the best of it too add.
Nothing!
Of the angles, the perfect relationship of the hypotenuse. The nobility of the electron cloud of Helium, the orbit of the heavenly bodies. All this, you vanity of vanities, yes. You, man.
In all the intricacies of the snowflake.
And for what.
Here and humble.
All to sit amongst the myriad of the stars endlessly, circling the void, and, to watch the flake of ice upon the hair and brush it off with careless nothings, to draw out the ear from a lock and wipe a tear, that has crystallised there on the cheek, and see what glories of the Heavenly Hand does lie beneath and pen vanities to impress that which all the host of eternity has needed none of yours but to lay a kiss and lose the mind, all this is just His Mighty hand for. To sit and, to lose the mind upon a kiss.
We are of such a temperament that too prone to the distemper of distraction that the curve of the neck is not enough, leading to the rise and fall of the chest and heaving of the breast, in all this o man, do we need anything to know, if there is the ended hair, a bead of sweat, falling like a bright star out of nowhere into brightness. That if all there was to watch them pass by such, if all the Angelic host were to trump! We mere men? What moment would have been missed but the chance for that bead of moisture to fall later to the belly like finding a pot of gold at the end of colours and that the Angles did play trickery on you so that, you might know yourself to be a fool! That we should so utterly fail to distractions that the angels we there to delight to see and witness loves first loss of all that we might add in nakedness having not such joys but to accompany with song and we did fail. And that foolishly you or she did try to add to it without the flow that water has down the breast.
Nothing.
Nothing.
All a string, a cotton, a liquid to list down the valley that would be better suited by the tongue not to speak but to taste.
Nothing is best!
And?
No, nothing IS best.
And this is where the reader meets the participant in this little story. Of background and asides why speak to you my reader. All I would have is tales and half-truths, lies and infamies and allegations or that way of maliciousness that the incorrigible send about like an ill wind on a summers day. This this too is where we meet.
Here then.
Aside and outwardly was this man of some dumb courage and flawed with a digestive and restless mind constantly prone to distempers of distraction. And plagued by oafs.
Where is this, for back story or addition other than always now for, the sad writer. Don't think that all you might add to this is better than nothing, what riches of cursing and vile temperament and lack of character will you have for me? All that is just forever now.
This is a compliment to the chef. That we taste and see and then maybe, to the peculiar predilection of the pallet. What then would you add to the angle of the hypotenuse to the mount of Venus mons. If only goodness then good, all good, calculate the ratio of Pi by 6 or 7 or 8 or more all good. But if you have no good add nothing! Add nothing to the circumference of the circle! Only good to it and then.
How much more so then to take breath a piece and bask in the glory of nothing but the darkness in, and nothing more besides. To devour with gusto, this is what is done when given from the Divine Culinary, and all is all is all, the hand and the eye and the proportions given to us in no use other than.
So here we are reader, as always now, what if can add nothing then nothing, other then it is not all good, if nothing good can be added and I will do the same, of you tens and hundreds and thousands to one, add nothing in the droves. Reader and participant maybe fated to, knowing not, yet I do know, and your additions, if I have any form is nothing to me in you inabilities other than the vile addition of man or woman to this if you might have as a worthless writ.
An sometimes also maybe. Just the particular graces of sences and body that is given us. Better add no of anything than, to crack the small for want of nothing better than.
For I will have the divine hand or nothing, in, of, in Truth, or in the truth written by him in some, or nothing, and all I find is nothing is best, would that there was a good additive.
For what is a kismet, if it is a bad omen better left undone in your droves?
Nothing but good is a better met, and if it be nothing, then no begging ever by the ever present now. Add to the divine hand of you maker gracelessness upon. Now?
And I start again at the beginning.
For I will have all or nothing.
And if all you my reader have in what I have given you is nothing now, let it be evermore in truth.
For aside and outwardly some distraction are better left, nothing.
For such a heavenly bow, that you should fire devils dart and not cupids lot.
Let me close my mouth and block my ear and know I have been distracted by nothing again. A wisp of ill intent better left to a passing mirage on my way to a better place, however long and crooked the journey be.
And throw a dollar in the cup as I be a nothing beggar and even though I am not.
But for I would have a better day.
No comments:
Post a Comment