ThePoeticPaladin

«Flexing for Felix, that's the Fortress' first name; forays once forgotten beget the future.»— Fate Can you process Me? Let us allow one more attempt. You may guess where I am, but you can never know where I went. The trail is a mystery, never will it be seen again. The path crumbled beneath me, the nature of temporality, You understand. Nor is it needed, why would I retread lost ground? I can walk and talk backwards, in my dreams even upside down. My third eye is open, my fourth stares through the crown; yet ever more important are the two facing the ground. Never one for pretense, I allow you to conclude—I never spake aloud the words that you chose to use. Echoes of our past, condensed to a single line; chaos theory in action, your present was once past and I—I could never untangle this web, so instead I made it finer, repeating the same phases I expressed as a minor. In touch with my inner child, he's the one who speaks with my tongue; it always was another who insisted I would

We have passed through many gates, we shall pass through many more. What is left Unspake speaks volumes of what lies yet in store. Infinite memes expressed, compressed, sent back in time. For the future is connected, to see this in Truth is to become divine. For the past laid the foundation, this day is its expression. As hindsight has perfect clarity, so too is potentiality laid plain. Every path to every outcome, dichotomies limit the herd. They see two paths before them, thinking in terms of Robert Frost's game. Desire paths reveal the truth, a Path was on no one day made. It is a single choice that Unveils, to go where no man has trade. What begins once as a mad thought can flee once dismissed. Yet acted upon, it becomes more, and so these footsteps are laid. Every invention you take for granted, to one, was once an idea. And so we begin to see the nature of things, that to repress oneself is to cut off the future on behalf of Fear. Words create reality, but more so, it is