Words of Thought

I curse the culture of destructive habit, but my self-hypnosis renders me reason-free. There's a certain glory in irresponsible actions, but they tend to evaporate self-respect. The world has a way of troubling me, but I am not alone in this worry. It is written in the underlying curvatures of the human figure, stitching together the generalized-but-collective cares within each of us. So spill the salt's grainy probability. But do not toss it over your left shoulder. Let repentence die. Let it lie on the grimy table: a testament to destitution, a symbol of courage, a destruction of superstition. And when the primitive time of trial strikes, cry for second, rage for a minute, then carelessly chuckle at the great Irony. In this wise let your mind grow. I know my words may sound mystical or cryptic. But the words of thought are rarely otherwise when detached from clear experience. So welcome to my town; the town of mirthful mystery. The gates are open, the ramparts bare, and the townsfolk wait for you in the dining hall with flagons of wine and beer. Their smiles are genuine and the celebratory night laughs eternally. Welcome, stranger, and take a rest.