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Photo by Marcel Fagin on Unsplash

We all seek in our old age progressions, this self-induced journey | two fingers down those throats |, a confessor, someone whom we believe can absorb all of our sins. Most of us settle for someone who doesn’t really care for them. God cares for his followers as much as this piece of paper and ink care for me…{ Whose world has yet to fully fade into oblivion’s jaw, mashing incessantly at the bonds of the material universe with its space-like precision. } — { A sacred cow, ambling about pastures beside the Spey, once confided in me, as though I were her salvation, that the angst of conscious existence was too painful to bear, yet too addictive to ameliorate. } with no exaggeration. { She passed me the lumpy cud of notions she’d been ruminating on, and I lolled it about in my palms for a while. She told me that her eyes were always brown, and her lashes a thick black. I hugged the whole of her snout in my arms, and she nudged at the pistol in my pack. } Others settle for human spouses and demi-gods. { I let go of her massive skull, and placed my knapsack on the late December crust. I removed my hiking shoes and woolen socks, and the icy crackle stung my soles as the course frigidity of the pagan wind spurred crystal nostrils for us both. } No one has transcended egoism — every act we perform is to in some way benefit ourselves — we do nothing selflessly. [ I said… stop it! ] — { Fine, so it wasn’t nobly chivalrous, but it marked a sublimeness from which I could architect no rational self-fulfilling exigency. I didn’t even love her, Stephen, if that’s what you mean. If that’s who you really are, Daedalus-driver, headwind eater of sin, brisk paced and mole-faced, a phantom who peeks out from behind me to see how far the sun has gotten in a day. I was merely with her. [ If I think you will kill her by the end of the page, would I be right? ] I stroked the bristles along her sagging spine, where her roofspan was unsupported by spindly legs. I grabbed hold of one of her vertebrae and squeezed, to see if I could exert enough force to make her feel. } Even honorable deeds are done for the label of honor [ You can signal virtue with a salute. ] even if it rests only in our minds. Our dreams always star ourselves. With egotism comes the guilt of society { Guilded ages of compatriotic simpletons, unsure of their own worth, unclear on the concept of identity, sally forth to uproot the tendrils of someone else’s society, and all compassion and the consideration of consent is foresworn. The mind routinely mixes deadly chemicals as cocktails, and I told her this. I told her that not everyone makes it through the glory hole, not everyone hears the harp strings of Nirvana, not everyone sees things through brown eyes and thick lashes. } and we do need our confession and absolution and only a few can abandon themselves and these people are usually the most heartless and cruel to others. [ I didn’t actually mean for you to stop, it was just a play within the shadows. I want to know how it ends.]

[ Tell me, tell me, tellme! ]

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Of The Osiris Foundation

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Erik Jespersen

Erik Jespersen

Of The Osiris Foundation

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