Great
lines spoken to me or by me, are like an exacto blades, slicing up any image of
myself I had in bartering for life up to this moment. I am opening the door on where exhilarating stillness rides on these polarities presenting vexing
struggles of self claims, by one-ups-man-ship. For now, all exoduses of
expression from me seem quite indifferent to each another and their usual task
at hand. They don’t know what it is like for me when they are like that! How
strange for this is to be as if the only show is moment to moment and less and
less that is present, is the self sense of audience.
But
those are my segways in self departing remarks. I’m the one, now in my mind, with time
on my hands and a mike on and cue cards in them. Does self
audience really need any of this or even need to bother to be?
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