The idiom “ihÇ” is similar to Çhi, or “she” in reflective phonetics; a mere casting of virtual shadow (fey, ephemeral) on Plato’s Wahl of cave, where the hole in the hard stuff overhead goes on and on like Gertrude Stein’s Pi’j’nn. Critics called it incomprehensible literature; now tell me about the holey books as source of myth, reason about what’s beyond … impossible dream. Does an individual have to step outside of one’s elf to understand? Mother Hub bard is a colouring of the children from the shoe-in, a derivative of Hebrew foot, literally transcended as pudenda, having an entirely different meaning that gives rise to certain fetish! If you translate word from a past time, space and enlightened situation … it becomes a mere shadow of its former’s elf. Now what was the aboriginal casting, scat of wasted space? A Celtic skett from Nordic realm … rein in deire freedom to pooh wear ever, it sticks to yah! That is the line on linguistics where “ihÇ” is the virtual (avert ego) image of chi, she, ci, xi, or zhi in whatever tongue is pyre or fiery thought … driven by an unseen power. Is that unconscious like motivation (əmotive)? Sometimes it is found at ninety degrees to the direction of travel like Cartesian coordinates and its seven poles, the “Seventh” is often an unconscious Ptolemy at the very centre of bean, eM brae O’dick, the upright man is not to far from the cede of creation’s shinning glory … spirit, scent of a woman. Idyll gette you every time, just the image of one naked in the night! Spirit of the soul is near to a bare thought; stripped of all reason to be, it wanders.

 

Now what kind of a symbol is that, you might ask? Well it seems to put the unconscious (soul, or mind) into a vast stir, what is referred to in ancient tongues as mel, or melle, a dark disturbance in the cellular matter. Now in the mind is that like a vanilla sky, white-out of thought? Now common man would have to express that differently in a Roman role model of war, hate, oppression and destruction of anything of hybrid nature like inking on paper, successor to the primal rheid, papa ruse, the syn-tax is of a story! Ides justly required … it just is … metaphor of God is the myth, absolutely beyond reason. Can you still deny əmotive forces, or primal desire without compensation? It … will on it sown … cede a story! Just for the love of it as creature of the mind, too many the Mir é thought’s pain as an alien thing in their fixed world … God “chit” there … leave it alone as a wee bit. Isn’t that fecund, grey vide material for extension, growing on and on like the conclusion of the Gospel of John (that isn’t)? Can common truth end just like that? Alas, many cannot see it as soul, dark shadow on a flat dirty Wahl, creature lying on the beach naked … oppressive to some … attractive to some singular seaman somewhere in the pool. Who could have put such a complex sense of cognizance together? It must have infinite relationship to endless quantum (chance) nature.

Now what opportunities arise out of such incidents of divine dark pools colliding? Consider pi’j’nn as an extraction of chi ‘N ease and melle ‘N ease to the far east of Roman role model. A bad apple in paradise will screw up a whole bar-rael of manqué, by insisting that one way is right while the common sailor falls in with the poly ‘n ease ‘n the distant void of home. Religious fervour messes up another culture, demanding missionary position … flat out! The matter of ET hicks cannot embrace light thought … upstanding intercourse without overriding rules that are one-sided, or self-interest based. They do not realize that from the beginning there were two sides to the story that tends to go on and on in deviltry of reproduction … no matter what you try and regulate with intellectual property rules … someone will share the thought in differential words. If the words aren’t there … they’ll be created like Poe … eM a tree of Ravens … call in shadows!

 

Common law will always beat out an archaic God’s attitude about controlling desire … a black-water fever that’ll consume any man with difficult (hard) extensions of inert’s elf. He just can’t prevent it as the most powerful force in the universe … it’s gravid, fecund, fertile what ever you want to call it … even rein’d’ Eire pooh on a dark, cold, winter’s night; a spark will evolve. A roué of thought will never stand in the way of a true love, therefore it is difficult to see a soul of desire … idyll get around any mon. It’s an internal matter ... the mind of God has left a piece in every man that you may view on this side of the membrane of time as inverted … not peace but a disturbing feature like a burning bush growing in a wilderness of desire … the san without a true desire for the environment, the wholé thing will burn a hole it its own h’saac and fall through the fabric of water … like a lightning bug to the grand act of Piscine … without roots!

 

How many suicidal, or suzerain (souse Aaron) thoughts need to fall before some one recognizes a true love, like creation’s love for all the wee little bits? Yet, powerful man in his intransient position believes that socialism is evil. Is that one sided illustration of a Black Hole in a Vanilla Skye … period? Or is the period as a curse for the ephemeral, sepia, just a sign for an new adventure … a new unconscious beginning as a child born without a thought about: how ID came to be? Is the sole on which we stand like that … just a thin mêmè branë, muse, tardy seed of grand entanglement in a stubborn realm … until the wee devil burns ides way through to cognition … votive candle in the shadows?

 

The hole story is made up of a bunch of dei-lectics, wee bits that have trouble fitting into an unhealthy way of the enterprise … so beit … for the Pisces. Great fetch Herman!