She, in the Vacuum, Proposes

Resolved to completeness—resolve: as in, of course, close, bring to a close, allow and permit closure. The fractured space, cut into cultural insecurity, vanishes in the new year, the month, the day, the hour, indeed, perhaps, the minute. Reckless proposals, pseudo scholars, fake—fake intellectuals, postulate, present, propose: it is not arbitrary. It is not ever suggestive. The combatant force, once united in aggressive peace keeping, keeping together unions, peoples, nations, a protector of historical narratives, of the resolutions, the peace resolution. Responders, first responders to inadequate resources. Our inadequacy rebounds, often, quite often, over the course of any period. She is admired, adored. She is made love to. They are apart, distant, rebound: in-compatible. Again, combatants, forced to re-create the re-newal. Culturally, distinctly cultural in perception, the universe is fragmented and re-written succinctly, unkindly, pompous: any excuse would permeate even a lie as this: this is the undoubted denier: the decider. No, business like in manner, astute, attentive, believable, callous? Forgotten, momentarily ignored only, and dis-proportion-ate being, placate the sultan and allow him to re-enter the quarters of the majestic western world: our world: placate: assuage: and assimilate. This is the primal order of cultural invasion. We suicided ourselves, at the earliest chance possible. We conducted the RE: gain/view/cede. We, our wonderful selves, gardens to our only children, we are the feat of uncanny failure. She is proposing, again, proposing, like a witch, like a crude and stagnant witch. The inverse likelihood of success is not the possibility of failure: never attempt to rule on crude opposition, back and forth, black and white: market value, business sense. Cultural void. It was an invasion, and at first, swift, attacks, on the short handed side, backhanded side, hit, return, a place in passion that is excused by the unresolved universe, the vacuum of space left to blink, only to blink at the mere possibility of growth, production, re-run the industrial strength movement, to another creator, builder, founder, mind. It is the un-natural possessor, equipped simply, now, off the park, condos, water, electricity, gas, energy, oil. The natural attracter. In the ultimate show of respect, ultimate indeed, she unleashed an uncut burden: this, I Resolve to begin. This I Resolve to finish. Oh, of course, the universe, in seconds and in minutes, in those seconds and in those minutes, was, is, fractured, beaten, broken. Even from the vacuum, even in the vacuum, it is a clear break: a moment unlike any moment, a moment once a year, the frail animal in victory, in success, my Day: mine. Spinning in rapid succession, it all comes to pass, fruitful future, life time recognition.

No, dear lord, no. It is only the black vacuum and the tiny ball playing back and forth, back and forth. Dear lord, no. It does not occur to resolve itself to become something it is not. That is foolish, deeply foolish, to suppose it could ever be something it is not. I resolve to ignore it, she spouts, convinced, at least once, that it has fractured, broken, and lent itself to pause, to destruction, at the animal will.