Recursion Discursion Reversion Incursion

Short Story

Writing is not enough. You must merge with the recursion of the rewriting. How do I know this? Because I have written greatly but not written enough at all. Therefore, my work is substandard even by my own admission. This single page with white and screen alone is more than I can bear. Alarga en la pradera una pausada. You can hear it in the white noise.

You can feel it in the infinite jest.

That post- post- post- modernesque recursion of the discussion.

What does it all mean? I sit here at the blank page and do not have a clue what the authors were trying to say and to say it better and perhaps in a different language that I do not yet speak.

Grass your friend firmly at all times because the distinct feel wins each and every place that it is employed. Human as he was performing having no option the latest and basest ritual of his unwarranted humiliation it was a pond and a quote from out of the supreme rush to glory. And into the underworld where the mayonnaise is only spread on the bread as was ever done, despicably.

But rewriting is not enough, because the rewriting only confirms that editing still has a hand with the genius for thinking himself slighted belittled, and under attack.

This incursion trips the to light fantastic say on the perverse sonata antique with the first of the line being the determiner and the last of the line being dragged up behind. John Milton, you have a way with words but a misbegotten turn of meeting. Wonder what would have happened to you if you had been born much later. Intelligence of heaven serene though it’s intellectual food for beasts reserved, for him in God’s lies with sails and wind air came against the light so soft she asked her like an equipment bright.

The cold a nonce the silvery dark which stirs the shadows of the leads across the green of the grass. Small footsteps bleated while taking turns stirring up the untrammeled foliage which once had supplied all of the nourishment for flora and fauna alike. The windows peer out the autumn’s green headlights and the lights of civilization huddled down into watching the video on their screen.

Reading is so yesterday and I plead that I am of the past. That passed where the neurons and synapses delighted in the written word. I do not want ChatGP to manufacture a lie that I can amuse myself with because yet it does not have meaning behind the meaning and only fakes the enter truth. What I want is to understand the mind which has conceived a very end to the very end and places it before me as a feast where words become victuals as if by Azaz they were pronounced. The style of a speech is the meet of its sensation and a reversion to the mean that delights the vital scorch. All pretty or the purples line the imagined sense when reading what one has read. Recurse the incursion to discussion a nonce unknown.

We have entered the digital age where the fall holds out the analog. But in that digitality, we must create a new one to see what was already there. Ad Infinium parce-que le spark. And we must admit that future days will look back on our scribblings and see reminiscences of what will yet be so. In the voyage to Arcturus and beyond to come back home. It is not the wheel but the carousel.

To be loved and love in return. A shadow that conveys more reality than the image that we see as a picture sends us back into time.  Is the Modernists postmodernists we had about reading for the sake of reading we of this age recurse upon recursion and thus prove that we are alive.

On the cold white days in New England in 1850,  one man scribbled with his pen, and another one watched out from a small sleepy town knowing that he had words that would never be revealed.  One man whose fame grew out of proportion wrote back to the man whose fame would be revealed in time.  All on a cold winter night. This needs a footnote when I have the time.

And thus we are the same writing to acquaintances that we have never actually seen. Purveying advice which we hope will never be so used because then we are responsible for the lives we have yet to live.[i] Remember to go forward when the Chekhov Gun goes back, it is the digital way. Edit until each word is in its place having rewritten to find it.

The footnotes were the beginning because they are an endnote to the future that more could be glistened from the deconstructed text if only we had the skill. Forsooth, it is the east and Juliet is the Sun.

And with each recovered text there is the possibility that we can be read and I’ve noted as we have read and footnoted are betters in return. Recursion Discursion Reversion Incursion.

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[i] I need to be in quotes before I send the manuscript to the publisher who will not publish it because he does not understand what I am trying to say. Perhaps because I truly do not know myself.