Stricken by

JUST IN THE MOMENTS BEFORE, AND IT WAS TAKEN

juxtaposed fantasy; nothing to be passioned about or rather nothing is being caught and transposed onto filament, layering upon thoughts, bouncing in between anxieties, which relegate to nothing i can grasp, alternatively that which am trying to agree to. Surely, something is worth a while, and surely, something is to be picked up. To measure any of the rates, or variables seems redundant and excessive, many more my thoughts bore over repetitive dreams. It’s something unlike regular occurrences. Falling back upon, irrelevant points of entry. Staging plots, to veer into snaps, non directions, rather that the goals, are in experiential momentary, bits, fragmented upon aspects which seem to carry an emotion, as contrary to any further down, into other understanding, or information carriers, like conglomerates of nods, the structures, in action with major population movements. Seemingly providing relevance to each aspect that is entrapped by the mode of transportation. In a valley over two hills spatted with jagged greenery either this and then or else the trees which mostly resemble pine, regardless there is a Bavarian wood, to which i have never seen. The image appears, amongst, some desolated passage between villas in some older 19th century, recalling. The steeples might help though honesty i think of rails, and a broken carriage, that takes weeks to travel pass-through the lonely inhospitable passage rather its length if one took foot, would consume all the space, and all the light which could ever be forced out into the world; something about the scope and depth of the vision, blinds reasons, and cares one into a reverse of horizon. Thus, it is where i stand which is invisible, and emptier then any scenic image. And no body, to hold from reference.