All knowledge is a product of what can be inferred, like a seed that has been scattered, a sproutling that reaches for the light, anyone who walked the road would arrive at the same conclusion, this is the key to the tower of Babel, an unlocking of your mind, it is a generational pool, for which is sensible to anyone, and from which anyone can draw from, poetry and this journey of words, magick and echoing truths, it's an organism, it’s growing and pulsing, truths and unguarded mountains of gold that simply exist, it defends itself either way, floating spirits and wisps, curses and a wish, they seep into your mind and they twist, such is religion and our deities, the heart, older than time, the poet smirks, it’s almost as if I know mathematics, as above so below, the greatness of the heavens embedded in an imprint, our humanity and what these bodies have journeyed, the truth of love and ever-present worry, burning under the sun, all that we lashed out to, how the worm squirmed under the microscope, what happens when the ever-present eye of Sauron watches everything, wordsmiths and historians, all that we record and allow to pass, floating red balloons, get ready to catch, nice tits, weird nipples...

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