In coming from the point of an ambiguous narrative one would not consider. That is the main focus, that I must lead this degree of chase, to its reader problem solving is of the utmost importance. Perhaps not in the time - the same time - that from one point it began, that another is beginning or ended. From this exchange of different points in time, came choices, that for some unformidable reason took chance into consideration. However, still no agreement can be made or it be settled upon that this shelter be my solution to the story.
This story - reminds me of a time in my life - when I was much younger. Much less older than I am now. Present to this day - today was much less then yesterday until I became richer in life through means that only I can declare assets. Are assets.
Probably much to the surprise of my fellow provocateurs, that not one has really travelled along my journey that the case in point can be made. Until this reason, for some serious bout of a reconcilable notion became clear. My conscious told me so.
For many of you reading this right now, perhaps only thought, what could I be reading, is the narrating gone completely mad, or to my head - that insofar as a reader must obey certain causes, this author has gone beyond the parameters of due recourse. The diligent answer would be - some say yes - others say no. To this end may we rule our democratic right to choose promptly.
So, as we have seen to make no mistake must be made to take it upon to chance.
This is where the matrix of narrative composure belongs, that our dynamic super-villain Marco Almeida has taken liberty to reinvent the narrative into a long trail. From the likes of Hanzel and Gretel to a fable less fortune.
But what can be made of an auto-biographical account, that the context is placed within a third person narrative, and so be it the fundamental aspect which governs human thought, that one must provide evidence for their functionality within the story's plot.
For all intensive purposes, this form of reasoning has never before entered an auto-biographical account between which order and the laws governing fictional announcements provide. Therefore, in the abstract sense of a categorical length in logical abstraction, the reader must account for matters of the heart, from which to heal this soul of a body of writing. After all, non-fictional events are duality in the realm of reality only. If non-fictional events are told into the construct of a body filled with turns of phrase, or otherwise built on a narrative which happened before it was ever written then there are things which need to be accounted for in its proper context.
We begin this journey from a point in Marco Almeida's co-operation with the narrator of this story.
He might be drinking a can of diet coke, from which in his present state does not deviate from his normal self. This is in fact a true cause and effect. Which to the average reader might trick them into thinking this is all but only a dream, but tonight is nothing like a dream. Therefore, it now only proves the act of a syllogism is in the art of forming words together like pieces of wood stuck glued.
If one has over-killed this point in the story with a sense of satisfaction unforgiving of virtue as it may seem, then perhaps the mind has exaggerated a great deal of mistaken identity for the countless other departures of which time has elapsed. But in no point in the short fiction of a story, has that ever been seen before, nor in Shakespeare but if that were in a dog's given name.
Marco's search began with no permanent course, let us suppose it was attached, but no manual to reach the summit. It's really just a matter of wanna-be's playing wanna-be's. Something you are never fully aware of or understood upon. I knew a great deal of these archetypes, never clearly identifying with anything other but their very limited potential or lack of resources based on gods anonymity given freedom. What have you truly revealed to the reader, until you've reached a limit to touch upon some facet of self awareness which even in youth some might acclaim to - but hardly try.
Insert, that the superficial lie.
A lie that is superficial on average is harmless, but to my surprise, so many fond memories that are allocated to the norm go there. Normal memories - you say - if you say so, I saw nothing of the sort. Then, there is a happy medium we can succinctly subscribe this message of fate from misfortune.
Tell me - Marco - what is this such a sad tale of trivial pursuit that no pun is intended, but normal memories cannot - in fact do not exist which go beyond normal. Then the question is: when did you ever start the dreaming. It was a phase. A phase. Yes a phase of the heart. Illegitimate of me to say so, but. But what. But what you ask. Do you ask for the sake of argument. Then I shall continue, this is not what it appears to be, during some point in the matrix of honesty a void in time may emerge, it is a great undertaking, but only those that live a legitimate lie can obey the cause and effect relationship, those that tend to block out the misery or make distant enough memories of a sky gone by hold beneath the earth a great dungeon of mass destruction, much like an epiphany waiting to happen below the surface of the grave before them, it is a kind of depression that links one's internal shallow bit of maturity into the long escape downward, almost tunnel like until you reach a divine force of intervention which is really narrowly diverted, much like plato's allegory of the cave - or - dante's inferno, but only in concept. This may sound more to you like a knowledge based proclamation, but I can assure you that it isn't, not only can we gather the evidence of diffused part of our memories, we completely detach ourselves in the process that as time passed. What we are left with is a combination of deceit, but of a kind we are completely blind to be aware of its force. To say a lot is to provoke a means of volume, as if to say, look at me we never really were here before.
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I have to say after creating this^ I was on fire last night. Even before I wrote it - I didn't imagine a thing of it. But, today it totally makes sense.
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