I suggest there’s something relevant to your needs or the questions that are teasing you. Provoking you to enliven them with your energy and attention and projection and articulation. That something that forms in the outer realms of our existence, that’s sensuous and likely to make you desire another day. What is this? If only I could turn you into lyrics that make you swim in my mouth divine and spit you out so the world understands a semblence of truth. I gather that I should come back down to reality, where the senses swell and the rationale root. WoW: the garden must of besweat the truth of the nature we were formed upon. What god would allow us to, but form the rod so that we may not? That same dirty that so formally desires us to succumb and sense and resign to a ‘no’ that is hard to adjoin to truth. You created each fiber. If that fiber is not worthy than why? What, may I care not to resign to it when it worth the entirety of ‘no’ I’m obligated to rejoin? Then, the thoughts: as if not to ask you of you truth along the billions of others you created. Seems formless, as if I was to feel for the certainty of time– given that that truth would remain. No questions? Faith above reason? And you forming both? I struggle, you mourn? The blood spilled…as something I can taste and not question when you gave me the ability to do so? I am but nothing if I am formed and only given faith when reason is that which makes permanence (or reality) exist. You ask too much of these feeble bodies that we operate here to-within. Not to say that faith is not feasible, but that my interaction with you must be more than that which I already know and can proceed to behave upon. You are omnipresent, omnipotent…I, surely, not. I ask for you, Creator. In the form that is sensible to that voice clearly understandable in that which is me— that you decided, ultimately, to create.