(no subject)
It's hard for me to determine whether my fingernails simply grow fast, or time itself flies and it really has been as long as appearences would indicate.
I find myself increasingly requiring pictures to say anything at all.
Without sound and sense I seem silent and opaque.
Divergence is useless, and eigenvectors are arrows which pierce nothing if not the sheets of thought which insulate the layers of abstract development and existance.
And nothing seems unique. And each grammar is trite. Each sentence predicted. Each dream familiar.
And every song or piece or phrase or chord 'stolen from miscellany and this and that.'
I find myself increasingly requiring pictures to say anything at all.
Without sound and sense I seem silent and opaque.
Divergence is useless, and eigenvectors are arrows which pierce nothing if not the sheets of thought which insulate the layers of abstract development and existance.
And nothing seems unique. And each grammar is trite. Each sentence predicted. Each dream familiar.
And every song or piece or phrase or chord 'stolen from miscellany and this and that.'