drawing around to rediscovery. trying to legitimize a known document, or maybe revel in its acknowledgment that extends past those it concerns. that it would be truer then if others agreed. it could congregate so sweetly i would think, cemented as having happened were a record be made easily available to the document in front of us. at once great, and so always so.

then how disappointing to find no such thing. at a grasp only closed doors, something not so quite itself since it lacks the exact piece that makes it whole. that is, the one sought after. burning hay stack like upheaval. nestling itself in disbelief is also anxiety. that we cannot trust our senses, they are unfulfilled by the realization of our mind – nowhere else but here is this true. fact only in presence. the skeptics worst nightmare. do without them, i whisper. then what. you know. such conversation would surely liberate even the most stubborn of grievers.

and i had a lovely evening. i spent it in friendly company. testing each other out – digging deeper outward, and so, in the most revered sense, inward. it could have lasted a second, or kept going into further eternity, without changing its effect. it was perfect. i’m happy to share with others in this solace – that hidden, protected, room. it becomes so much more that way, i think.

and it’ll keep happening for a long while, at least. by lsd