Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
I'm sending you 'Achieving the truth position' by separate cover; through the ether method. The beauty of the poem is that fails to illuminate truth at all. Salvation doesn't come into it either unless, and this may be the case, it's more to do with craving the solemnity of that sacred certainty of self-hood. Who are we after all?
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I'm sending you 'Achieving the truth position' by separate cover; through the ether method. The beauty of the poem is that fails to illuminate truth at all. Salvation doesn't come into it either unless, and this may be the case, it's more to do with craving the solemnity of that sacred certainty of self-hood. Who are we after all?
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