Questions and arithmetic tracking fields
The art of saving grace, the sound so soothing of blinds shut. The hours, described in numbers, dropping by like changing flies. The numerals, so insuring with themselves, arguing on the times to come, the savage steps of becoming madness and all the lies to be tell. I speak not of the things that I could think but of the oblivious nature, the transcending degree of abstract that plagues the unwashed eye. For it is, above all, the constant state of change, the cutting of the culling and the changes of one’s mind… I speak of what it is to hale, and to speak of all the dead languages, to scream in unison, to declare what should be altered and what should, by force, set in stone. Standing, taking the stage and declaring this to be but folly… Searching, in search of an unkept seclusion, when we all but tried to run away, cringing at the verge of deceit, asking, screaming in anger to be free and to reach said state. Drawing near, that sense of self, never to be held by the nerve of one’s e...