can't string a thought together, the wind blows through, the scattered pamphlets of ideas and memories, the man in mystic purple falls on his sword and lands on his feet, almost, maybe i'll get a sprained ankle and then there's always the chance of falling flat on my face, either way i'm inclined to think all is well in my universe. it's becoming more intelligent and more vaster, complex, kinda sexy and even elegant and reaching some kind of point. 
what is that point? some kind of harmony i guess.