Down the line

a body limpet-like attached to the mind folked in haze of ideas & ideals. Lift & pull for another transition, I know not & never deeper.. just farther removed from presupposed responsible awarenessecities. What's needed becomes apparent & not falls away unbeknownst like the leper's flesh. Fresh winds whip and sing through the rope which harmonise for recognition, for attention. I fit to twist & pull, to throw the shapes necessary in appeasal. The hell with yer english - these actions are as needs be & those vocal enough to demand immediate attention, suffer not the niceties of proper form, vibrate visceral momementum. I say in-satelite that these here words are nowt punched through without incoherency. It apears somewhat an all fruit-shaped affair if the context remains unfathomed. This is not of my concern & likewise a non-anchor comes any referential critique or commentary. This is & remains the bailling bucket for such a leaky vessel which vies for neither, exists & persists in absence. The IMS (Imagination's Majestical Service) Do.list.a.kant. So gaggle & go figure me hearties while the albatros whistle yawks a call to ye all, so a'fall in line will yeh now... Drafts in the captains cabin go unseen though nay un-noticed. Alarms, set for early warning & a silent action, will be took & carried. Maybe the morrow will host more than the triptich of this morning's infantry.