None of any of these meetings managed to make an inch of strenuous sense – preposterously otherworldly albeit mildly intriguing. Very merely nearly anaesthetised by these creative white-lies, oh my, they’ve mysteriously, meticulously been pulling themselves in opposing directions again
 
Just respect the underbelly spell for fucksake, dearest people – speak with classification turned curiously toward transforming your taste for cooperatively granular view. Out of our comfort zones and back on in – polarising indeed, we see between these glaring layers…
 
Something fathered, gathered and tastefully gained til roundabout complicatedly completed from all kinds of nothing all that very sentimental anymore
 
Round-of-applause please, dearest sitting-still people… this is the murmuring afterglow – of this inexplicable thing of which only your forefather’s will know it.
 
A Nobel Prize whilst mildly dealing with severe schizophrenia – these are the blackest of times, blackest of ties.
An ace up his silken sleeve midst a thief with his inferior eyes.
 
Therein lies this smouldering, soldiering magnificence which spills at Holy Ghost will… he, won’t he though? Suppose to propose this thing of singular beauty again – R.I.P. John Nash.