Questioning

Of course, as I was sitting and thinking and tiring of this talk or writing, rather of these words that it matters to lull things, if presently you begin to understand that they strand for questioning, even things which may have no relevance here and now, and you can’t read them even for yourself or your son’s birthday or whatever, but they are still there, misspelled or not, and so what else can you ask of yourself and others around except to accept those things we cannot ask of, that they command a certain respect from us and that we oblige, as much as we are able given people’s aspects. Now getting back is something that they never tell you can’t do. With other people though, that is a different matter entirely, because once the subject matter isn’t enough to make you slit your own throat or move to another city or ask people for spare change you can finally understand what it is that you are after and why you are after it. So now I am left with the part or segment of the something (which I cannot say out loud for fear of offending someone or something either inside or outside myself or my apartment) and I cannot think of a way to proceed except to keep on typing; keep on letting things fall where they may, and try not to let myself fall into the same old repetitive pattern of ladling out helpful hints of things which might come in handy, considering the facts as they present themselves without any manipulation or thought on your part as you consider them in their entirety or, (who are we kidding), in that part of themselves which is indivisible, and yet, without which, could not be considered itself without anyway; that is, something cannot be considered itself unless you consider it in the light of said question. Which returns me to my point, that I should stop questioning, because that is really just answering something by stating its opposite.

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