PW: Perceive Your Attire
From Create Your Own Story
(Created page with 'You attempt to peer into your own aesthetics. You encounter a problem quite weary, but its jowls remain something that can terrorize; this problem you cannot seem to overcome the…')
Next diff →
Revision as of 21:04, 5 September 2016
You attempt to peer into your own aesthetics. You encounter a problem quite weary, but its jowls remain something that can terrorize; this problem you cannot seem to overcome the qualms it bears or detach from its phlegmatic mask is the awful acerbic stench of a phenomenal problem. You try and humour it, but can't help dismissing it as an itch, and thanks to this discard you have activated its horrific and wintry tension.
Tensions like this are not easy to steep into the inertia of such profound waters as total inertia; the tensions rigorously corrugate the flux at its indivisible constituents. There is no easy way to abscond; you nether end is itself a blockade. Remain un-stagnant and you will group into the same vessel as this confectioner of thrilling omnipotence, but become inert and erect as you are now: a similar fate befalls you, only now it totals your adulterated conscience into a fine oblivion. The only way to recover the salubrious after such a dreadful act of knives is to somehow jigsaw your way in to the narrow pathways of a self of frustratingly compact atoms. You come to the conclusion that all you may do is respire the thought, and hear what is has to soothe or abash; you are not totally at the mercy of a text that has no output, then, and whose only input could be venerated or disdained.
Thoughts arise now, fluctuating effervescently with the faculty of a spark and grasshopper's jump in your mind. It is this same tension. Without many qualms you perceive its notions and ideas. Any arc, contemplates the thought, that surrounds you, has not the sufficient capacity to rebound and to wear the attire of a mirror so that it may strike your own vision into you.
However: you may find some of your unrest quenched by looking down. What you are wearing, other than a light and impressionable black overcoat with large ovular buttons to encase your chest, is a sanguine tie and an incredibly silky dove-colour polo shirt. You wear salmon-coloured and very faded cotton slacks.
