in spite of
I can oversee the future, and endeavour to tardiness. I skip the sense of myself and kiss further than the titles. I ask again and remind the world of this pallid pen. This entire universe of thought and instinct buried in a hatchet with fangs and vultures and amazing talent. They sit wisely by the door as we construct futures we cannot see or hear. I am tortured by the present and lessened by my manicured temperament. I respond wisely to myself and decide on the life I was meant to lead.
I can often sit idlely by and wait for the inevitable, and sit I will, but I am seeking a rather unfortunate tone of memory and solace here tonight. I am in search of the beyond and the beyond it is fit. I am sitting among futures and beholden to the risk.
I can often sit and wonder and spit aloud and wince, but I favor the balboas and the moderns they emit. I live aloud and sing the rain and spit aloud some more, but I am tempted by civility and the damp dry methods of phraseology.
I sit upon the land and see the vain come swinging, I dodge gorillas and sensible healers and convince saturn to be cool, I buy stock in a hotel that parades me to the moon. I am sipping on scissors and sitting on lizards and daring the planets to align. I am sitting on the sinners’ blinging and I am winning the west wit.