Somewhere, sometime?, in the past few days I found myself maudlin up to the point of an irreversible trend toward the point of no return. Indeed, at one juncture I did find myself turned aside momentarily, askew to the perpendicular, but my wit took me into its corner and whispered these things in a thick vapor of salt upon my reluctant senses: don't neglect your present course, you must ride it to the end without reservation. Do not be swayed by the sights and sounds to your left, or tastes and textures to your right. A soft belly cannot reason, a feckless mind will not rebel. Grab hold of this flaming torrent and paddle through to the climax, where all will be gained. There is a calm to be met in the flux of an inherent universe, a place one can delve into benign avenues and be seen as all-everything but above it all, a space so low that looking up is akin to flowing into and around, or so high that seeing is an exercise of diffuse light. Interpretation is the key, and spinning gains disciples of truths and the lies they'll swear allegiance on. The turn of a poetic phrase strikes a fetid pose, wherein dark and light mix in a slurry of pent up aggression, spilling out in a gaping froth of cacophonous ire to flood and overwhelm your contrived masses until they succumb to the unholy tide and swirl in the ceaseless eddies of a contorted soul.