My thoughts do not follow lines, they are volcanic. They rumble in me for a some decades. After that, with an intensity of force, I hurl them to the heavens.
If people want to debate whether I ought to have sent my energies into the skies, they are welcome to sit at my foot. It's quite likely they are of the view that my experiences ought not to have been as they were, or that the confluence of my life events ought to have convinced me to act differently. They may speculate about the necessity to have experiences at all, or the purpose of emotion.
They may wish to divest themselves of a myriad of newly hatched thoughts. An idea might strike them with the sudden impact of an electrical force. Then, they're convinced that they're the ones to rectify the problems of the world; to make them seem as if they'd never happened.
If people want to debate whether I ought to have sent my energies into the skies, they are welcome to sit at my foot. It's quite likely they are of the view that my experiences ought not to have been as they were, or that the confluence of my life events ought to have convinced me to act differently. They may speculate about the necessity to have experiences at all, or the purpose of emotion.
They may wish to divest themselves of a myriad of newly hatched thoughts. An idea might strike them with the sudden impact of an electrical force. Then, they're convinced that they're the ones to rectify the problems of the world; to make them seem as if they'd never happened.
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