The story of no.
It began long into a verse, which carried a kind of resonate tone, where thoughts did not quite emerge nor trap themselves. They just were whatever they were - at any given time - or moment.
Such plain simplicity in its view, might that word or other reveal lay to rest in a silence devoid of - silence itself.
Where the story of no reaches, there is no end, only that which it embraces unconditional to failure, then to failure comes, came agreement, then nothing more. Just words of plain poetic verse. Of pioneering the story of no.
So out it came, the big secret which so much thought was put into that little - very miniscule - sense of something much too small. It needed something bigger, something far bigger than the imagination.
This provided the sense of comfort, of thanks, of freedom so discreet.
How gentle a verse, to carry on in such secrecy, that what appeared to be something entirely posing life-like qualities, everything else surrounding it was empty. Around that empty space, then a place where pain is no longer chosen. In terms of memory, you've discovered shame is the same as pain chosen, self inflicted or absorbed as benign energy, followed a malignant form which hostility, creates.
This hostility is of passion.
Passion does not fly directly over your head if it does, it just enjoys taking light subconscious naps.
- Marco
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