I thought of having a rubber stamp made into just my name, and punching it on things to freshen up this plain white achy paper, make it look like Neiman's where my friend finds solace. She frequently invites me to have meals when someone's being honored, and the best people to have come display allegiance. Sometimes dollar bills exude a form of kindness those without them don't expect. I ask myself continually how instinct relates; how you can place parameters on second hand. I have been schooled, this is not pure, I have been engineered to have believed. And trained in various arrangements of reality, such as: "Whoever falls into your path becomes your (sole) responsibility." That's Christianity in one slanted lump. The right connections are essentially immoral's what I get from this. Setting aside amounts of time to make those webbings would be wrong, when there are people to take care of (Who has time to leaf through space!) right here in our community! You don't get far when worshipping according to a recipe. I'm part of that small domed interior posing as duty-bound with no evil intentions. I can tell you right now, I'm as clear as anyone can get, despite my father's words "There are no pure motives." He simply wanted to de-gush my mother's skewed perspective, which I think he thought concerned an impulse fundamentally acquisitive. Second guessing comes to be a hobby when your faith prevents your knowing things. Ironically, then, time is spent like water. Fears grounded in all things that we have wasted, all that we have yet to waste. To be invited is to have been acquired in some small way. People invest in shoring up support for what they like to see believed. I'm one of them. Can prove what you've been taught may be as insufficient as your yield. But that's another story.
Consecutives all in a row, predictable as the intended flowers placed along intent-ed lawns
Sheila E. Murphy | What Next
Contents | Mudlark No. 8