dearaugustine

Here I sit making neat little patient even stitches in the fabric of life, letting the folds flow over my lap like some shimmering, endless free-fall, where, yes - we are ignoring air resistance because conditions are ideal. It slips over itself, creates labyrinths similar to pathways and chambers in neurons, grey matter, folding - crazy origami with dimensions of a tesseract malformations of space-time that go unnoticed because that's already what it is: Space-time. A lifeblood continuum. Stitches, stitches in obedient little rows and sweeping curves crossing each other, railroad tracks of ideas and hopes and dreams and c