The man looked up the escarpment. The valley had already tired him. But he refused to take his eyes off the peak. He took a flint in his hand and tried to figure out, if the scatological scent came from the stone. The scent had been smothering him, making him much less willing to breath. He thought of the designs and the frays of the eider-down on his bed. He thought of surviving the pervasive abominable scent while the climb up. He thought about a delicious little morsel of meat. Then he identified his enemy and obliterated it.
He started climbing.
all road leads to randome
As to the who.
- The south paw, who knows no direction.
- this guy, here buys beauty in abstractness, randomness. His carrots are intuitions and PG and he sometimes see a world, just beyond that thin veil,a world which is as abstract as it is so full of sense. for a living, he has taken the job of having a job. it's terrible much fun, and the blame could be on him. And most importantly don't pay heed to him. He is only as sure of things that he writes, as he is, about the next ad in the tv or the number of vertebrae in a T-rex. The words have come out on their own, and it shall be their purpose to come together and form a meaning.
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