In a bewildering moment of archaic clarity, nocturnal beads of seawatery droplets precipitately appeared upon my forehead, as some dream of a dramatically echoing moment in memory, I realized so clearly--an adverb my initial clarity brought to mind-- that perhaps the pishposh here that was designed exclusively for my own enjoyment might just not need prettying up, or even presented in public -!- like a hung sausage in the market square. I say that moment was bewildering not because I was confounded but merely muddled.
I lead the dogged hindquarters of my thoughts onward though they be sterile or of hybrid nature. "Derivative," how I hate the word --there appear to be countless words I feel thusly about. I can remember the first time I came into contact with the damnable word in reference to a certain kind of forged music for followers of heavenly pursuits. Oh, but I am overly wordy...
Historically, the times I have had such an all-consuming pursuit, as is currently my social media period, the rest of my life became a complete jumble. Formal education was one of those stretches of time. Divorce, another, and was foreordained from the moment of making my first marital decision as if aboard a speeding train and noticing my beloved in a field picking cotton in the far distance-- in the fog. Had there even been a modicum of sense in my head, I would have held off until time had a better chance to do it's slow strip tease of revelation. Thusly so, the scars revealed early rather than later in my life.
So -damned the wordiness- I feel my blog must be derivative as actually I started it with every intention of it being so. But my whole education having been secondhand has led to this derivation problem elsewhere. Only that to break the mold is nigh on impossible -- Tristram!-- I am just as muddled as ever.
by Michael DeVore