The corner turned itself and observed its angularity: I think I look obtuse in this aspect. The lack of effort. An unoriginal corner, or, let us find charity or consideration for the less able corners; a neurotic corner, unprepared to pick better terms or make better points, oppressed by how it may be regarded. An overly self-regarding corner. How obtuse. How un.
The conceit is not complete. The form has not yet submitted itself to redundancy, although it was resigned for a while, while again again.
Through all this, and more, on days and other events, we recognised that the business or activity of noting the spaces into which our categories organised themselves was not yet without fruit, seed, potential, bearing, moment, calorie, factor, presence, leverage, charge. We persist, we persevere, we turn. We note the continuity, we find the flavours that haven't been controlled, resisted, exorcised, argued out of existence. Jst. JJst. Jjsst. Jjjjssst give it to me. Jjjjjjssssst given to me. But smile as you describe yourself, relieve yourself. Of your anxiety, by acknowing it with a grin. Self self self is hard. The corner is selfregarding awkwardly. Obtusely.
Here's stuff from that lad, and bless him (again with the gods among us, again with the frail momentum, again with the troubled hyphenation, again with the gilden complication, the charity or consideration for the less able corners, for the fallen falling failing heaven), bless him it's hard. Find space where you can. Look no listen and file it while (where) you can, the curtain is like rain. The time is back to us.
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