Past the realm of a superficial clarity- the mundane tangible consciousness, past the effortful rise in an absorbing skylight of a turreted facade or simply a dissolving in- mesmerized- in the warmth and beatitude of an awe-inspiring contemplation or an imagery, lies a promenade, a gallery of sorts- housed lawn, twilight, virgin silence- with huge English windows, out of which these daunting visions, their spasmodic beauty, appear, as effervescent projections. There is a religious urge, a need to register it- sculpting thoughts in a translation, reaching out, garbling words in an attempt to echo these thoughts.

Such, the mind- a delightful vial of an elixir- inexplicably personal, a renegade, a visceral pretention. and in it’s gravity, a deluge of archived obscure memories- erratic and promiscuous. Enthralling déjà vu s, premonitions, assumptions, convictions are what, if not, tricks of this sinister intangible omnificent organ- privileging, fashioning you an identity.


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