Antiquark. Hello Boy

What shall I do? Then, it's something I would have never depicted in front of the finest boogiest mare... What is the use of it all? What do I need it all for? It's all pain and dust. Sorrow and sadness all around. yes, that's right. trying to catch the glimpse, the indication in the dilated pupil. It is that all. It's all about not me. The taste... unmistakeable... All odities went away. All lexemes do not speak in my favour any more. So strange. May it morph now into something more digestible, you surmise? It has just gotten more sophisticated. Not only is it about rarities, but the rub is also in the compoundness of unproximite pragmaticity. Most trite quotes get recalled... Awful condition of soul. So miserable. So dependent... Shall I wait? Shall I let myself wait? The Elegy begins... I am just priyv to the very basics of it. Will the mere structure be of sufficient help? Why, then, is it me after all in it? Led up the garden path, not to be ever retreived. Shall I give up or sacrifice everything that has been so painstaikingly done? It's me, faithful to the old traditions and habits that I myself have laid the foundations for. Doing the same thing you might say, nonetheless, it's all evaluated, refined and neatly polished. - -