Never was there such a thing as good nor evil,
But instead actions and inactions,
and the consequences that would befell from both.
However, there exists perhaps a loose girdle of justice
to shapen this world, but
without clear distinction
as to whether it grows soft from manmade apathy
or hardened by the graces of Mother Nature,
as she watches the drooping oak of her backgrove,
and its poisoned sap, seeping
through to the willows
that sit, weeping at its base.
his story,
I hereby ascribe to my mother who made me and my twin who saved me,
the only ones to have recognised me for my life's true worth—The other half is attributed to the people of New Orleans,
for without your intervention and simple suggestion, its primal subject would have never been bourne.
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I, I. ALMA AWAKENS FROM A DREAM SHE CANNOT RECALL.
𝖂𝖊 are born from a dark place; all living things that are, will be, at least once in their lives. Consciousness congregates in utter black; it first arrives by following upstream the canal of amniotic fluid that cascades forth from the decussation of alfa and omega, the crib to tombstone drafted—albumen is woven unto tenebrarum, and knotty little omens knit themselves in puzzling patterns for the eyes of soothsayers to spot. This fragile gossamer flutters at the slightest whim, until Father Fate is so thoroughly satisfied with the shape of our selves to come; at last, he ceases his meddles and needles and smiles quite crookedly, and the cat's cradle readies itself to receive the suckling soul.
Witnessing firsthand the beginning of all things as it unfolds before me, it goes without saying that I am not so vexed by the umbraic dark, as no living thing should. How can I, when here in this strange singularity, it is forever occurring—the irregular arch of his spine and the click-clicking of his needles from where he must huddle over, pledged to naught but the rapturous nature of his creationist work, lodged betwixt the same darkness that precedes birth and is the successor of death in all things; why, here that great perpetrator be! Our nameless Father of Fate—weaving together with intricate latticework the argyle nests to house these muculent, yolkish wisps that I had immediately understood to be the miraculous manifestation of those beastly piths we refer to as souls!
He works not by candlelight, yet still, I can see... Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Maecenas congue consectetur porta. Suspendisse rutrum interdum congue. Vestibulum aliquet diam auctor, ultricies justo vel, maximus felis. Maecenas dictum arcu nec interdum vehicula. Vestibulum id vehicula quam. Etiam id dui nulla. Curabitur sit amet odio non ex feugiat pulvinar. Nulla a porttitor ante. Suspendisse potenti. Duis feugiat felis in nibh consectetur, ac commodo nisl ultrices. Phasellus viverra, nunc vitae tincidunt dapibus, quam erat iaculis metus, sagittis aliquam orci ex id enim. Integer molestie urna ut erat convallis rhoncus. Etiam a erat vitae velit consequat venenatis ut non quam.
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