required attenace to a play that sets beside itself the imagination of the promise. the past streched far into the distant with future scattering in a juxtaposition decimally refrenced like donated trees. recalling how things were and how things could be is still overwheighing the present. not mockingly is the written song of the only one who could understand distant like frolicing tradgedy's i had a hand that could remedy. refer to the distant illusion of mass sanity to see that this is not where you had intended to find me. if i was in a better state of mind i could find the reason to carry this dialouge. instead of letting this fail. i recepit the cost to bring myself to you through this entirement of presumable passionate resonate of dripping prefaces across the space i can desiginate. this is an enitirely different existance with no place that cannot be ecscaped from. access my words from anywhere since they are nowhere. really there is no constant place of residence for them unless they are with you. to much to express to limited by vocal absence of comfort of sound that is so precisly that. i'm leaving temporaliy and finding what i left assure this would come to some sort of comical climax, but i cant gaurantee that transtional phrases and conjunctions will produce in more sound display of my councious across nonexsisant malleable space. soon is the passing of the great mood indicator to the next happy occasion unilt then i will free the timid mind of my younger contemporaries. see the way they shine like a dime in a slot machines entrance. most pathetic contribution to and failing mass weight and this is what i want to hear from myself. i want to quote you and be with you in your lyrics but that is as daydreamily possible as shaking your hand from here. refurbish the remaninding compatriots. stop the insensicle rush of me unitl there is a way to see me for what i am, i;m not what this is and now that i cant listen to the rapists sing about death i'll never return to your harsh vision of anyway we could rehash the romance of the past flames dying away in your mind as they remind the only silent figure in this painting. lost time again is swept under the rug of forgetfullness