April 18, 2012
How does one manage the indignation aroused by fevers induced by expectations flouted? What does the ever turning circle say about this? What can the inner voices that mutter eternally without sound say about this? Is there anything to say? Are we destined to become nothing more than a stupid of echoed shadows and misplaced dreams, only to be mocked for having something alive, held lovingly in private places that can't be utterly without blushing for the true feelings they conjure in a mystical heat that is not at all mystical but strewn about the playground by hands of resentment?