the reflective echos of drums in a vacuum.
Anger surrounds and subsumes the very essence. Without warning; the selfless self suppresses desire and blandly assumes the role of the profligate and purposeful parasite. [alliteration not withstanding.]
The words “erstwhile” were once used to describe things that lay outside of the realm of recollection. The self who abandonned dreams and became a vacuous remnant in the shadows of doubt. So much has happened since then. And yet, here we are again. [that was one word shit-stick... erstwhile.]
The beginning has nothing to do with cycles if you think about it critically. Unless you begin to subscribe to the idea that we are the products of our environment… that whole “nature versus nurture” bit. [whatever.]
Causality is a bitch. yes I said it. [sexist.]
The beginning is only useful if you want to trace the trajectory of chaos… but then is it really important if chaos descends into patterns of recognizable ocilation. Did that mean anything to you? [fuck you.] idiot.
Yes I said it. I don’t really care what you think; and that is honest. Does that make you want to shout? does that make you want to cry. Throw something again… I dare you. That makes me want to watch with captive amusement… as you implode? [asshole.]
Yes I am talking to you. I could go on like this forever. I could keep lashing out at a shadow who responds only with echoes. I could prescribe and descend into the depth of my own shallow reef, populated only by polyps and other encrusted remnants of life.
[Hello...] …hollow, hollow, hollow… hollow… hollow.
hollow.
There is nobody here.
Not even the echo remains.