|syzygy, maker of straight a habit of three's|
Design is an accounting of lines, You always say. But then you like to add that it's the other side of the lines that should intrigue. You go to the black board and write, Lines can cross the great dreams of sadness. Then you cross all that out. Below it you write, But they'll end at the end of often on an otherwise blank page. You turn quickly and explain, They can be left boneless and alone unable to describe the want of our humanity whilst we sit and watch. You gesture at me in the small desk I'm in.
I cough and clear my throat. I'm hoping to find this time and say something witty. Something that makes some sense. I decide that there are only two ways to respond to our current social crisis. Sadly strategies of disruption or engagement will only seem asymptomatic and given to wary self aggrandizement by you. So instead I determine it's best to blaze the more unlikely path and hope that a positive outcome can be reached through the close pairing of emanations resulting in a union aptly depicted as a metaphorical Aeon, I look at you standing there. The chalk passes back and forth between your hands like small change at the laundry.
I clear my throat again, Let me know if I've told you this part already.