After what? After you've come to your senses? After whatever the before is? It is easier to just accept the fool label. The found voice was there all along , it just was scattered over a dirt path. Sometimes the comments posted on a blog or zine show more effort than if this lounger would spend hours here and not match. The Google Art Project is today's improvements on the hours spent at the art museum finding answers to the question I did not ask, just as these thoughts are streamed for no one. Finding a voice that's accepted is different than just getting it out there, favoring the impulse over the redone. Unlike the imagination of the cartographer, getting there requires no insider secret or any requisite side to wear your pants. DaVinci forgot to mention that all the interludes were designed towards intelligent elimination while perfecting the skills needed to deliver the goods. People everywhere probably overlooked the signal that congruency comes to the chosen few and even then certainty exists only when the ribbon appears or a publicly spoken delivery of romance by the letters was already accomplished. The quest to edure the ensuing nine months, not in a womb but rather in the confines of our own making, was more costly than just the phone cards. It meant overcoming the ache of desire with several recharges in different places aiding the embezzlement. And shoes had nothing to do with it. The debacle of vaporware brought me to that place and from there perfecting the nighttime luxuries became the bone of significance far beyond the worth of these notes. I really could stop my leg and because of that shavings of the fool are scattered almost daily. Unstoppable