Madvocate

So many times and thoughts and such that like this, it would be for the honest misgivings and dishonest takings that my confluence has aligned with so many voices of the era and like a quarantine, if not but to have given all that has undergone. The opportunity to ramble beneath the banner of a post with some title like Runned or Rone with what's keeping myself together as a string of words was all there'd be, and in this how so so many would it be. Like rambling on about the should, and could, and would, from the reason we don't use those words anymore. So many mad poets if should that be me come before the present tense and acerbic nature and commonplace and nomenclature with this these posts have been and will be gratuity to the nature of this sentient plantlike game, and just to prove that I'm insane sharing it with them at the same cost despite the options of the effort and mundane exemplary motives. 

In the coming months, my styling of writing will continue here without preconception of recollection and reception and the decolletage and deception of rehearsed and scripted notes, writing in the blogger editor off the cuff and full of hope. This, for my sanity. Where as an update to where the final drafts will be are on they all have will a link atop and beneath, each post, something formulated neat. My decoration of mind and decorated thoughts of now and them, often how so and again, aghast my past deceives me and alas shall it complete me -- forgiveness, this now is then again another recollection from soft perceptions of the music and it's place, presently a horn of steamship and the shores of night's disgrace with the dreams of little nightmares on repeat are taking place, reason that this truth imprecates me eludes me still from quiet way. 

Yet, that is all for this message, oh yes, indeed, by chance, for certainly it might be that writing was my mode of speech and rhyming something else with reach as all the notebooks would get lost between the ceiling and the floor, our beginning is so much more than nothing sure, of course that everything's allure resented not for nothing keeping score. The rhymes grow weak with meter as they peter off and shrink while my mind can only think of ends to books, but rather standing or adjourned. That here would be the ruffest of drafts and dullest of trash in stream of conscience keys to the mind, which allows me to get thru them with ease and askew to replete in a book or a subscription early peek. New paragraph, that this blog would get uploaded forever open source, and a book of Vulcan once completes the course, and new versions of the old wizard with emotion and remorse, including the act in six scenes and the cyborgs and the newest notes of course. There were thoughts that these were all to be written and that was true as well as known, but for all the thoughts and plotting more so dreams of swords and stones. 

You, are my audience as the illuminati medications or political meditations or have chronicled and essayed, and so you will have the elusive clues, but be with truth until the matters are resolved, for resolution and exhausted brings more questions, and this screed undue its witness in the habits broken from inaction and the vices they replace. Today I charge myself with reason now to spend my time insane, writing fast as fast could fastly like the echoes in the brain. Perhaps, in ink for the keepers to keep or the others to discard, would like tides of oceans singing confuse the ending with the start. If not only to be a guitarist, a coder, a sketcher, again. To take my dreams in concentric circles and shrink them a size and weigh the cost before another year trapped in this tree, of doing less philosophy, for the many voices and me know each other but without uncertainty, much to say this burns their eyes before yours, little else that would break this new world order, a glimpse in time a mortal name, random thoughts have taken reigns, how now and then it holds together disconnection point and game. Fuck the rhyming scheme again, the mind it rides the waves in whether come weather sounds would change the pattern into something never mentioned as the ancients had intended, so here's an implication of inference that they won't soon read again. 

For every word there is a story.  https://www.patreon.com/maxmatthews (nothing there yet) is where I plan to put mine, quite the successful website/program. One of my pen names, and with any clover my subscribers, and the household gods of course, will know the other names and their books and you'll just have to know they're out there. This blog will post a lot as promised, and sorry to make my creativity scheduled, but the general plan is, any one of the projects can be done in an hour, and be posted once a week. My guiding mantra has been "40 hours to freedom" each week, and too keep this blog a rockin' daily, I'll try to keep you on the up and up with more specifics, where to click/visit the other projects, etc. at the bottom of posts if there's more. 

Here's my plan (you're here, getting first drafts). 

Teirs > 

• Fiction, Essay, Vulcan, 3-in-1, etc. 

Feeds >  

• Blogger (here, shorts/dailies), as Patreon freebies. 
• Vulcan freebies, and the grammar book years out a couple of sections a month
• 2nd, longer drafts, for Patrons (from 10 years of source, and daily shorts)
• YT free, in Vulcan, relearning guitar, learning to draw, to something. (separate channels)
• Patron content, to Kindle self publishing. (final draft collections, M, etc)
• Blogger old, the first 10 years, on Kindle publishing, prolly free? 
• Some premium-only, reposted next day as sample > prem, etc (years from now)
• Blogger 2nd draft - prem - Kindle > lets me read everything again, meh, and start evolution and derivation, ex. shorts into drafts, chapters into books, 6ch grouped, and publish those annually, 

40 hours to freedom. I'll write and post new content every day until a breaking point, for one or more days, each day writing more to revise, and revising more. With some updates occasionally, in hopes that fantasy drafts are more than wiccans need. 

One day, my mind was so empty it was time to fill it with thoughts. 56 hours, mastering sleep. 56 hours, a second language adding flexibility to my mind. 56 hours, learning code to accomplish with the tools available a task within the limits of imagination and possibility. The mind must take breaks to heal in plasticity, curves in the gray matters the way that time bends as energy bows in respect of light, and beyond the visible spectrum the conditions to understand, the limits of thought of limits, the thoughts of limits of thoughts. These angers you have are human, you post lyrics to honor artistic complexities, I don't wonder why you scream, and now we wait in wisdom recreating thoughts as visions without action, I only wonder what you dream.