The horse wrote about the tenseless all it would take was one good shove, a piece of flying shrapnel and he’d be done and over.
A chessboard with a billion squares. Divided in two. Five-hundred Million. I thought to myself about why, with 100 dollars a day, from 20 to 85 I would never spend a billion dollars. I would not take with me a bit of what I had achieved, but would be an immenseless contour. A subtle brevity.
God was not about God, as much as it was about seeing one’s minuteness.
He wrote himself into a corner. And then he wrote about the immensity of the corner.
We spend so much of our school days there, why not divulge a little orthogonal wisdom.
So there it was. A boy and his tiger. Imaginal love. Life was a fantasy adventure.
I knew it. I know it.
A million connections. Vibration. The sceptre of power.
Nine hundred, and ninety nine million to go.
Nix and naught.