So of course I am sitting here, looking for longer words to fill the void. Words such as “destitute”, “destitution”, and so on and so forth, for there needs to be less shortening and more lengthening in order to see some sort of circumference around the main sources develop and so that I can say with clarity that there is something that, with a certain level of exclamations that go along the lines of “indubitably”, that there is a point in the chase of which the catch opens the latch to the thatch of the nest that the cuckoos rest upon and nurse their young to adulthood, or at least until they are old enough to go out into the wide open, vast world of which they have been set upon, but without all the tomfoolery of which they are forced to embrace on a regular basis, for there is a lot of tomfoolery and there is a lot of embracing of that tomfoolery, but then again, none of theme experience the exegesis of their dint.

Of course this is all a form of speculation on my part, and there is no telling as I sit here and whittle away the minutes in order to produce the production of the era of the times. Soon there will be nothing left to produce and all we will be able to do is embrace the incoming tide as that is what we seem to have coming our way, or something to similar effect.

What is it all when it is all said and done? There is no form of geology that can truly undermine the sources of inspiration that we take in the pursuits of the arts, and it is much better that way, for these are two disparate things that can come together in a form of confluence that, once we know the source, can lead to a great many a creation and best it be done before the downfall that seems to be coming our way, and very fast at a rate that could suggest that the unsustainable truly is unsustainable and we need to essentially change our ways overnight if we are to have a chance at survival.

Then again, the invertebrates are beating a hasty, undesired retreat and the insects are leaving us to go somewhere far removed from us and as they dwindle away we twiddle our thumbs going “oh well” and expect the renaissance to kick in sooner than expected, but what will replace the insects once they have truly left? Could we really complete all the tasks at hand and hope for a better thing to come about? The answers are cast in doubt as the shadow looms ever larger and despite our attempts to bury into the sand our faces and ears, there is only so much sand and not enough space to do all the burying that we’d desire.

Then again, the light will switch off and the door will eventually be closed.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:24:76

Well, this kind of got dark.

A bit unexpected, but I guess there was stuff on my mind that led to the shift in tone.

Written at home.