the price of something
held for
moments fleeting
cost benefit
maximization
in choice matters
satisfaction cannot
be achieved
in this or
what you might call
experimentation
confronted choices
balance outward
signs of struggle
bring me the head
bring me the head
dare this
to me
I can’t won’t will not
choose
a likeness less
leveled upon me
more than given
broken by more than weight
take this
take this
strangers across crowded rooms
in infinite poses
beckoning choices
learn something
beg for more
come back for less.

I think its Count of Monte Cristo meets Cryptonomicon, with a bit of Lord of the Rings.That would be something to write home about, perhaps even be proud of.

I’m not even sure about that. I’m not even sure about that. I can’t say enough about how unsure I am about that.

Leave it to me to think of this, to bring myself to this and leave it. Left for a purpose, sure, considered, not really. I can’t think of a better way to begin; a better way to think about, or approach, this “matter.”

I sometime wondered what reasons I had, wondered why G was so prominent, and how I’d come to this. The lowest of the middle lows, the basement of mediocrity, the lower middle class. I thought wondering might bring clarity, but I see now, it’s clear now, that it didn’t.

My next question is this: how far can I go; how far can this go? The inevitable conclusion remains a looming stone. I would say teetering, but I won’t. Boulder? Cacophony? Please. Spare me, spear me, spar with me. I almost lost it there, you see. I could tell.

Harold Pinter, a man, met once, well met, and considered. I looked out across, reaching leg for open space, stretching my legs for freedom.

I’m not sure about this anymore.