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Have been trying to do automatic writing, and yep, its hard. The hard bit is not wondering about typos and consciously constructing sentences. Lots of gobbledegook.

This was one of my first attempts.


When relish turns to mustard and the pity and ponderous potency of night are bleached by sunlight, look again at this place of wonders, beyond the outside.

Behold all and be blessed for such is the state that few declare and muster enough to make a smile.

Wonder then if all is as it should be, and if nay be the answer then more fold should come and see, yet listen and be ware.

For on the seventh day the wonder will be gone and all with ashes shall rise, amid the whole sale slaughter of air and love.

Then look and smile for where there is nothing, something always grows, so no tears for what was, only anticipation of the what might be, if anyone can further their hopes and bear the essence of might, so that creation can commence.

So what? I hear.

Who cares!

Why bother?

What if….?

What’s the point in the long run?

Turn in upon yourself and wonder why you waste time saying such things. Looking for reassurance when all that might be is in you from the first.

I pity those who would spend more time thinking of reasons not to, than acting and taking that first colossal step to a new day, a new future, and new land and reason and might and help and blessing.

Make bridges, not barriers.

Make axes for felling, not for fighting.

Turn aside from that you may fear and quell it by lack of attention.

Doubt only remains in those without imagination.

Hope is the bedfellow of actively disenchanted only when they have a task.

A dream.

A figment of the divine spark.

Take the stride out into something, and leave those behind who gain twisted pleasure from wallowing in doubt. Who needs a comfort zone.

Even the brutal must rest.

Even the brutal must rest.

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