the lost man chronicles
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the roseate pique and the muse (tempting fate, part II)

inly. so much of you is inly, knowingly not outwardly expressed, professed, confessed, knowing others are too far apt to judge, discriminating not based on reason, but on the inverse of reasoning—ignorance maybe, lack of effort to think things through for themselves more likely. most just take perception and truth and morality off the shelf and out of the box and apply without even reading the instructions. dysfunctional really. sad. lame. tragic.

anyway, despite the simulacrum of thinking the morass of people do, you still believe that you (my elusive, my ecru, maybe ochre muse-to-be, my inspirationally and fiery and favonian and wanton other-earthly lover) are out there and you are lost, just as much as i am, and wandering-wondering aimlessly, pining, designing to make every delectable moment count, amount to more than a paycheck dream.

you have also noticed how grossly tumescent people are these days. pretty unsightly, frightening how we so easily lose ourselves to gluttony and abandon the value of self-discipline. alas, we will not harp on them, upon the multitude and their feeble propensities.

for you and i know its all about disposition, don’t we? aspire higher, be positive, radiate, fly, if not soar. we want more and are willing to get dirty and roll in the mud to get it (and play with it).

the roseate pique of your prepuce reminds you of Georgia and the swath of her lithe brush as you admire your rosebud, smiling, in the mirror. you find Her beautiful, if not utterly enchanting, for you are not sold on circumspection when it comes to your body, your self. you get a special rise when exercising your so-called salacious penchants, for you believe that prurience is simply nature colored tawny with dew, undeservedly tarnished by the great unfortunate who are liable to limit the awesome and fey potential of their senses.

ah, the gambols you employ to keep ennui at bay, often involve words and sunshine-energy, for you are often quickly bored by all that tends to be so sedentarily popular. not that you do not enjoy the cinema or a best-seller on a whim or by the night of a full lune, but the sagacious you is well aware that the hoi-polloi tend to tear into entertainment indiscriminately, with discretion unwise, for it does not take much to tantalize them into biding their time with all that is kitsch, schlock and en vogue, as long as it brags a price tag denoting its “worth.”

en sum, perspicacious, acute, keen—all these easily glean insight into you. coruscating as you do, you gleam and shine with every curvaceous turn of your demeanor. quintessentially, you are a star, and I pine skyward for you to bless me with your ancient luminescence—soon! not a million-million years from now.

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