Progression. Progression. Progression... Never mind my point I should get on with the post. The marker has fallen. Fallen like the trillion-trillion snow flakes that paint a thick white coat on everything not in motion. My surroundings have been white washed. They lay an empty canvas waiting for the first foot-fall to began the masterpiece. I stay still inside my cavern hoping not to be washed away by a cold breeze. There are two white pages waiting for my markings. I refuse. They are my future, my destiny, but for now I will go ignored.
My focus has now become clear. I must back away from the teetering edge that is the unknown I. I have taken this progression thing to far. My plate is full. If I don't take a moment to digest I will gain nothing but a upset stomach. I am becoming the experienced. Not the wise-man. More aligned with the shell-shocked vet. I am only gaining speed. I am crush-collision. Spectators wait only for the crash. You await only the crash.
A beautiful butterfly flaps its wings. On the other side of the world a tree falls in the forest. But my keystrokes make a sound. Chaos is reason. One can always bank on the reliability of it being unreliable. This is not chaos this is a linear path with a determined vector. It is only the perpendicular that can set it astray. It is not like the parallel lines that lie depending on one's perspective. I hope that I have made one point or two or three. I guess it all depends on where you stand. I can not draft a plan to get out javascript:void(0)of this one, the subject remains to sketchy. We must wait to see what projection remain true. This is my final sentence it is the last piece of my perfect composition.
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