PW:Retrieve The Boat Within This Commentary
From Create Your Own Story
Mind kept on thinking, boat kept on drifting; only the topic was shifted. Enquiries circulated your mind, flowing marvellously from speculation into the ghosts of sine and the locomotive; this disparagement of being where you are necessarily quelled your suspicions of grave tortures one might endure if one befell the universal encroach-trap of the flowing undulating sea. Not only, from your first woven system, could you not seek to enjoy the sea, you also wrote something about activate sea's conscience in your mind. A sea, unbound, free: long ago from your memory you'd decided this was your most forgotten and least lamented tool eternal to its environment. You never expected the sea to die, but that didn't halt it from being quite a mundane immortal; perhaps spontaneity was the Achilles' heel that expended all those who didn't immediately align to an equilateral geometry of a mundane circle; you choose not to befall any further inquisitiveness.
You mind stops wavering from task: you go towards that boat, and that luculent sea; you wish from rather heavy depths of your heart it may just recede a bijou back to whence it came, so you can claim your vessel, but it is either deaf or malevolent. You tread plentifully down that acutely-angled slope and slip down to the basin of the waterhole; you can just about grab the boat, frustrate it enough to come towards you with an explicitly lofty floating. The sea sparkles in emerald shines which you can't hope to Spurn. It is a strange treasure that your unwarranted desires unconditionally lust for; your response is merely to try and remain, as you are, quite noneffective on any false ills that the falsely jovial succumb to. You can of course change this approach at any time.
Now you heave, heave in this timber dinghy you buried earlier on a surface that chastises depth. It didn't fall and you soon have it far in, perhaps even at the shoreline. It swam in the water quite perfectly, and then had to dry up and become a sluggard on this lustrous freshly conceived surface: non-flavoured collisions; in a fashionable world of electric blue, truly a substance and colour from a prettier age which vibrated with a spark of quaint valiance, and that ink, did never compute with those haggard and completely neutral stones with sharp edges rotting skin; and yet, there they appeared.
In no time: you have docked the boat; you can only succeed at things other than this herein.
| Status | |||
| Circumstances | "Saturated, lucid" | Paraphernalia:
"Satchel" | Concepts:
"Cogency, cliff, moor, ocean, aquatic, land, stones, respiration, movement, literacy, English, consumption, appetite, young, danger, threat, will, space" |
| Circular Reasoning | "Logically Sound" | ||
| Profoundness | "Nil" | ||
You now:
