too much i retrospect or invoke visions. seldom am i not in a strenuous psychic mêlée to evade the "now." in fact, i'm not entirely sure i've ever known the realm. it is not that it frightens me, necessarily. i'm just impassive by its persistency. the absolution. the ease of readability. i only ever crave what i cannot grasp. as though i embody that empty microscopic segment composing long-gazed upon sistine ceilings. and i promise, if you look to that voided crevice of two fingers outstretched, though eternally untouched--you will also then penetrate matter vital to my uncloaking.