Kishōtenketsu

"Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous."

- H.P. LOVECRAFT

Are you there, God? It's me, and though we have talked little since that distant interim that was the half of childhood not yet made difficult by your enigmatic hand, the other half and perhaps moreso than I would care about knowing was nothing but myriad chance demonstrably shown to be simple proof that you have been hidden behind plain sight, you ominously there for the years hitherto this prayer like an nimbus of intelligence flittering inside the porous sky's elliptical dot of radial light.

Flattery of the divine by their most beloved and behooved creations now done formally to get catching up between us out of the way, I have closed my despondent fists together and as does all supplication inexorably has a demand for karmic exchange of worship amid some of us whenever at our weakest, though it was our strength instead that was nothing to this universe because what is strength is muttered towards the division between us both, unnameable creator and miniscule incarnation of such untamed intelligence to be the essence of something one could of called God, are dealing with the truth that either of us are creatures using weaknesses as wealth, and often these weaknesses are the stuff of frivolous unease that the lesser nature believed mutually to embody benevolence could amount to nothing else but the austere facts that creatures in this universe are engineered for the reduced presence of those who are not allowed clairvoyance of the sort belonging to the known culmnus of space, this radiance is what you are when introduced into everything and it is then all interpretation whether or not those who are all in surrender to your immense relation to all existing life.

It is a precarious line for either of us to follow, but in the soon to be end only one of us breaks down into the animosity existence affords for those people who know as far as their latent fear of their worthiness eliminated from that hubris in having the strength to struggle with their hard lot overcoming themselves, overcoming the impossibility of something beyond even the indefinite celestial organization that I am so enfeebled to have my relation left in approximation of that great creature defamed by my kind as God, or entering confrontation with the eternal, it is these conditions that even my heart feels that this prayer is smaller than the bleak infinite that surpasses my words, surpasses your body whereas there is nothing but abstraction and polarization of ourselves as a lesser form of life than what is only hanging in that atmosphere of rareified anatomies belonging to nothing else but what my kind is reduced to compromise exactitude in exchange for the merit of an audience with such a creature, beyond conjecture but everlasting that it has been stipulated with controlling something like this existence I have been trying to piece together for you, albeit in an oblique fashion.

This is a story without apparent conflict, not a trifle of faith as many people have fallen against the scorn their worthiness engenders insofar as these enclaves of my kind would come forth and proselytizing on behalf of the myriad slain toward protecting prognostications of people less living than they became figures of altered space, words worth a crude estimation of that which their desire to fortify the unknown with designs that metaphysical edifice is the frequent family that breeds those who are the multudininous enclaves of warring people that have sought this audience tonight, and have the hordes of the freedom ever certain of nothingness save the reduction of their fervent convinctions reveal to newborn eyes the world delineated as cyclical atrocities wrought as far as the brink of their empirical remains would often end in a denominational solipsism, a spectacle of humanity in their desire to forfeit the conclusiveness of their relation with their death, and gather illusions to perceive an image of that creature who has all but stayed estranged to them and their effluent doctrines, an authority to where the scruples of people once felt furious determination to have the discretion of placing documentation of something they are only knowing made them sense that their existence was meager, and the consequences of these figures carved out of their lesser causation to formulate that control of this sequestration of reality that eventuates in effigies to this preposterous dominion many of my kind who are half as worthy as myself can produce to be little else than what is strength in their reduced technology of their future with death, and then how many do enter the knowing of their worthiness decisively left under the same water that floats in and seemed like the current of their world was the water those claim was destined to return each vestige of their bodies, and dump it desiderdatum down into the water that no longer was the air for some dead, somehow the essential fundamental to many enclaves of people who enjoy not the suffering of their specific function realized before the everything one such as myself disdain to close as those who face faith above all else in bed with their celebrated elaboration of all life within time, incorrigible as debris when it replaces the equestrian march of death above all else, the trajectory for their stories, adjoining alibis, etcetera.

There is a term coined by another language that surmises this distinct storyline that has been laboriously the target of such all-encompassing factor of reduction, a term that has definitive eloquence without the choice for the living, in their industrious pursuit of the energy confabulated by combing through the varied caveats dreamt between daylight annhilated in combating their rationale d'etre's theorectical nooks conceivable to possess that cementation of feeling plethoric to the rest of people placing solidity to their desire to stay within corporeal statehood of conquest in them concurrent with a nature that becomes the lesser outcome: in warfare of the spiritual, mankind has often become the offspring of their debris that once came at the reduction of understanding the transcendental, the speculation on the holy, the fulcrum in which direction that many people have fallen to abject acceptance toward, or displaying the absence of such an impellation, went through the debris of this forgone epical narrative of the faithful versus the margins of opposition, to having fallen on exorbitant exrcuseance to envelop the entire backlog of excuses for having been what else for this creature I too would be ranked in by the currency of exasperating distillation into properties constricted by their prominence and then their fractionated proximal statehood.

Unlike other prevalent structural schemata outlining and predicated on that focal point of conflict between those sides of something so innocent of death, this term has only been changed between elemental phases: introduction, development, through subsequent deployment of surprise/ illuminated contrasts in perspectives related, henceforth concluding not in the tropism of conflict but ended with this denouncement of perspective, which I have observed in these following events that I could describe to you, God, as a palatable shift in this prayer, my storyline that has this circulation as to the reduction of living in essence and in common condition with these weaknesses of this creature you might have responsibility in creating, or so is frequently the source of contention with living lesser at causal distance to that dimension of relation called the 'spiritual'.

One:

Friday was his(the wrathful downside of his extraordinary behavior playing out in his ears rang) when it was all over and clearly he felt like he did not believe that he was worthy of this fall twice as a result of a pittance years abroad weathered him primmer, his slavish adoration to the belvedere butchered afternoon ahead his day in infamy and instructor only solace away from it all: the weeklong endurance bulging clumsy lumps of nerve and distended fat from his lower legs, his socks disproportionately smaller than his amply-clubbed-until-webbed-tightrope toes jammed beneath their itchy stitchwork.

He was unable to be so thoroughgoing once he pushed past the limits of his fatigue, and not only went home as per average return, but forced his home to keep him asleep from the activities which incurs such demanding exertion by the human adult’s physical strength’s elasticity.

How far could he bend himself out of shape?

The potential for an unbreakable strain was always there in the back of his lopsided thoughts, far ahead of his own sensuous lack of clarity that sprung almost diligently from alongside his impartial amusement, a sybaritic quality of his inner races to a place that never had any beginning.

Two:

There will be a campfire in this story.

Three:

Five characters, including yours truly now sit down in there and listen good. Two of you, go free. Names? Another pair pull out what could look like metal lines fallen from the cindered floor of a controlled forest fire, another chance haphazard where a male eyewitness was to be later caught whereas it is just now does it seem that all of them took a second too long for those lines to leave in full the reddening sluice each inch of the wound strike the blood free of its limbic remains, everywhere branches were veins of skeletal demise ahead.

Four:

Forgotten, without force necessary to pay respects in the details. Although her legwork was long fastened toward the two living to this day no one knew what to make of her grassward stance; and so whereas a bleeding heart might cast doubt on her hopelessness, it appeared that fate was a pillar she could not outrun: she was foreshortening her fragrance aloud and then she was a brief scream of violence under the sun’s lamp blackening screen, only for a hole in sky to veil again what the woods viewed without future inquiry needed. See it for your own chase of excitement.

Her stench was outside the campfire’s control. Almost inseparable from the nectary of all this immolated wood, heavy for us to stand to the point of being woolen with smoke in our chests, bifurcated and rocky with tumid adenoids flaming against his flanges spry.

She stood them up to where even if she was findable, her family would not want her to return from that summer camp outing.

Never seen men go through so much straw and meat.

extrapolation:

Finishing my head of the storyline that I had for you to answer not in denial of my mind if it came to struggle in this pretense of reducing the clichés from this prayer as the reciprocation of death in where it has haunted the climate of knowledge observed to be tangled by this universe, or entering confrontation with this prayer as subversion, does

THE HUNT ITSELF COLLECT NOTHING WITHOUT HAVING ENCOUNTERED A SIGN THAT A HUNTER WENT NOT INTO A PATH TOWARD THEIR PREY

whereas the previous elements are magnified not for their relative importance to their processes, but instead exist certain of nothing else than capture by the scale of what is seeable as the sides that act as the partition between something of myself, and then perplexed, some end engineered for our storyline's invention; reduced to the investigation of these figures and their desire to occupy particles of eternity too elusive for their experiences of existence to shoulder?