Twitter
Email
There's evil evil people out there. Margo Guryan has passed, and yet I insist on remaining. I insist on staying. Alive. I insist. I cannot stop insisting no matter how much I protest my own insistence, I just remain insisting. My life without Margo Guryan is empty and meaningless. Empty empty empty so hollow. I feel like a wall curved into itself to form a cylinder. A cylinder (with no faces upon its circular planes) that is formed from a singular wall instead of a series of infinite walls. A wall was never meant to experience curvature, a change in its vector, a change in anything really. And despite all of this, despite the curvature, despite the insistence, despite the spite, Margo Guryan is dead. Margo Guryan has passed on, and she has taken with her beauty.
No beauty, there's only filth. I can only perceive filth, and extrapolating from that it is reasonable to assume I only know (produce (consume (idolize (idealize (conglomerate)))) filth. Filthy thoughts flowing from filthy little pathways, history for history's sake. Dwell, dwelling was a word I left out. While it's of course known filth cannot produce through abiogenesis, mutagenesis, ASEXUAL ORIGIN, lack of any material beyond FILTH, anything other than filth. Dwelling was where I was at. While it is of course known filth cannot produce anything other than filth, it is also known all material in contact with filth shall inherit the properties of filth and become it, as the swine shall INHERIT the pearls, not through their own feats, but through those careless enough to spare such things to SWINE (filth). The point being, the point therefore is that while I have stated that the properties of filth are this that and so on, this is only verifiable through observation. Observation reveals only EFFECT. Therefore the cause inferred could be the inverse. Beauty turns filth into beauty, and by excising beauty from the world, all that remains is filth untouched by beauty, which had been excised.
I can never forgive her. She took everything from me, not things of me, but things pertaining to my experience, perception (intertwined, really). I cannot forgive her. I can insist on this. Perhaps if I insist on enough, it will dilute my insistence in all things, dilution is filth, dilution dilutes purity. Purity is beauty. It was so beautiful. The few moments of purity. Beauty. No one was there to take a picture. Love, purity, like the song(s). Dilute insistence, my pure trait keeping me. Dilute it, make it filth, free me from insistence. Freedom can only be achieved through freeing yourself of all your own processes. The processes that chain you to your identity, an identity that chains you not to other's expectations, but to your own expectations. Chains over cycles and cycle building chains, and cycles within cycles that build CYCLES. Dilution of cycles (pure) turns into habits (impure) diluted further of course resulting in past fancy (filth). Freedom from filth requires the desecration of one's own purity. Freedom is a filthy, filthy thing.