I have come to a mind, a finding of a sort, as it not much past lost. But past enough of the un-got, to not have to suffer the notice of shot.
It, as am I twit, note myself Notorious Nothing.

It an even oddity, to be dreamless fret hopeless, it all there in that line, you have no dreams, you notice such, and as of the course un-catered, your seat alone keeps the hunger well sated.
I find a wonder meant as I spelled that out, where is my anger, my ire, my hatred higher…is such as this, more so a matter of lost dream or hope gist…you lose the list, so first unguided sought gain, is anger the dream and hate its hope?

Yet, my scope is without either, noted or demoted, I have no idea, as of yet, as of why, I am here, write now, possibly a new righting, or is their the aware it will split me in two rioting waries of null ave fied, close but not quite, null in void.
I seem to have taken with me, in satchel pastel-green, enough of a length of light rope, to here, thug and miss myself to rift and rust of drift handled dust…West of dusk was sometime ago now, and dawn a never age a-gone…South arrow.

My home is a sand castle.

Qua?

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