Goodmorning, Glory

Tied loose hands, while breeding new hands to set free. Look at the cycle, the revengeful effect of remorse, our love lost in time and divinity. The place where you have no access, but know the most of, the place where you keep the most animosity but love the creator. How can you love the production but dislike the creator. How can you dispel the author but adore the prose. How can you love the visuals but forsaken your eye. Well I can sell you something, well we can barter, I can trade you a piece of this insanity for your love, if you do not want to use it, I mean I can help you learn, wait learn with you, how to use it. This is the tale, huh? The lonely decimals in the numerical slot, of time, hour, minute and second. The failed emotion through digital mediums, the removed sacred for the artistic angel. I remember the first time, I wrote one of these, it was on a Monday, and you left that Sunday….

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The Libertine

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