_20201201 Tem Que Ganhar
So it’s that time again, to write about fantasy according to the laws of nature uncontrolled by reality and limited by the personal limitations of convention, while the air is breathable and the words of others so much in erasure of estimation that this far along the third outing or storyline if one were to say it’s anything less than a pattern rolled in road with anything but intentions, with just enuf emotion to write about a destiny confined to the context of exploration and the subtext of contemplation and the reflex of self aggrandizement, and lo shall there have been, but it’d be nice to remember the theme of it, had the hero been discovering a pattern counterintuitive to the villain and countermanding the progressivist symbolisms of the foil against the moral foundations on display, or at least understood by the auspicious terrain of writing or ironically the very suspicious but plausible underpinnings albeit societal yet supercilious discovery as a metacognition in vicarious glow.
Yet somehow unable to remember what was worth to write in the rebellious, and often pervasive revenging, plots that epitomized complex habits and criticized the prime and utmost essential choices, which I myself put the hero Merlin, into having no choice but to find the plot armor and beat the hell out of it until smashing the supernatural exit in front of him, if in projection would be somewhat self-defeatism and the rest would yet be wrote, and still making his prophetic and afore-written escapes to find the widowmaker webbed plot to catch-up to the woven elements drug from all the chapters prior, and now, what would be the archetypal remedy, the parochial adage laden in steep consequence, the legendary trite morals of tropes and steep slopes with obvious evil castles on uninviting mountains, how then and when does the song with familiar words let me echo its chorus and plagiarize its message that the villain would be true foe and hero would in uncertainty know.
So, what a terrible point of these words being anything, certainly not the storyline come to me by recollection does the story forget to mention and the voices in my head that none do have but for consciousness and the frequency of space as a single note, or at least this solar system or some obvious local field, here to yield that the problems are vastly apparent and in distraction might soon overthrow, again you, yes you, can’t be knowing what it means to learn this or let it go, because my fingers keep-on typing without intent to slow, makers much of mystery, takers touch the history, and the readers are the afterglow.
It seems that evils are inner troubles but to have the positive quote of the day in my head saving clarity for the peace between this journey with a bent or crooked wheel, and the truth so soon reveals which devils that we know, if the villain is now evil or my madness was for show.
This would place the chief of madmen wisest most amongst the voices of reason in his mind without safety whispers asking at a loss the answer tasking, suited directly between his target and allied with the multiple unknowns, still unable to ask his ideas for their errors or his worries to slow, leaving little else but evil far ahead the only road.
/ @swehttamxam