A Tangential Exposition on the Human Condition

There is only one woman that I have ever loved and when I look at you, I see her. Amazing and thoughtful how she’s grown for me, more complex and still as full of life as schoolgirls I chased as a boy. At the moment that the considered life always leads to, reflection, I know that you would not have been her at any other moment but are so perfect now. Upon consideration of that last statement, I think about how I fit in the continuum of your life; whether I am truly in this moment with you, or a boy in the past or future, imperfect, but so full of love for you I’m hard to deny. Are you as bonded to me as I am to you, or am I tangential, intersecting a portion of you, a portion of your time?
As I’ve stated before, it is transcendent how two people grown separately, so far distant from each other, having such varied experience, suddenly meet and join, twist about each other as DNA , creating life from what was dull matter of the universe. The science of it, the math of it, the psychology of it; all the truncations of it man devises to hide the mind-numbing, staggering abstraction contained, so that we can actually get some work done, so our lives are not spent in wonder, so we are of use.
Which may explain the level of usefulness I’ve obtained. If I’m the tits on the bull of this life, I’ll have to live with that, but as tits go, appropriate, full, supple, soft, with rosebuds for nipples (and I call them that.) Lovely in a word, but an acquired taste no doubt; I would never change them, I will not pander to the masses and I only ask that you do not change them either.
I take on this world and leave you wonder. I dissemble the mass of its construction to show you the complexity of the components that are assumed, taken for granted. So to wonder:
God is Pi, the dots of a circle, the circle subdivided and again and further, the circular expressed in a linear context, waiting just outside the delineation of thought, the nuance, the inspiration, the unattainable goal, concept beneath the substance that can not express itself fully in this world, not ending, not repeating, continuous free expression, the eternal, the ethereal, specter, shade, ghost in the machine that creates the machine.

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