What if we ceremoniously celebrated belated death as we do/th birth?  To set in formal order by the bed of one and await the
time they pass, and set the spirit free from body?  A glimmer, the underside of flesh.  Sparkling high and heaving towards
the sky and is cast off into the heavens/firmament and then we know, we do truly know where it went, whence it came, where
it had been; what it looked like.  Our energies flood and vein to it and bring it upward.  Perhaps we focus on the wrong things,
And it can be fixed by us, for us.  But 'tis is ignored by ignorant.s.

There are all sorts of other things that happen, will happen, did happen, and its true that
it is up to them to sort out their fortunes, hopes, and futures.
What could what, would we sow to mean and be what we could consummate as the greatest of
peace?  Place?  if it forgive be this solemn one, then all solemn ones otherwise could be too.  What if we can't learn?
When will we see embrace the things we learn, in solemn comfort?
What can't we learn?  We could save all which uncrackles.  And serve it with an adeemed
amplitude, some force, rather than farce, the face of which is about and honest.  A pure complexion, so
softed and sorted, a heart shaped visage, rather blinding to look directly at.  The statues looking away, but want to 
commiserate..

Brought to here was the bubble /thought as it grew and formed from dream into node into mode. /thoughts
of consciousness,/ and he thought now that it was a boy.  The consciousness opened its eyes from the 
deep thought and came out from its dank, blue, cocoon.  It had submergence.  

The boy opened his eyes.  Blurred, everything hazy about, he had his first glance, and his 
vision jumped and jittered and tried to get its bearing.  His eyes gone wild.,  Searching and
aching.  Stunned and constantly blinking, he urged and pushed himself up, slumping on a
stone slab..
He purged a big mouthful of old food and harsh breath, and his body rippled a boom that stressed his whole body out in weakness.
The him, himself, itself was still chattering to his eyes, them themselves, theirs, its, his; him 
was them, its, and they were one... though none of them realized they were.  His nose was chattering to his eyes,
the coldness, he felt.  His eyes 
focused, and he saw drab and muted grassy plains in front of him.  He noticed the plain stone
slab.  His arm was propping him up at a labored lean and he rubbed his head of soft, long hair.
It was radiantly pale and gave off a glow as harsh as a blow to the eye from a distant sun.
He was looking at his calves, his feet, his thighes, all plainly clothed with gray cloth.
He was young, a teenager.!  His head hurt, and all of these computations were
obvious to him, intuitive, but still... his head hurt to think at all.  They were still oblivious in ways unseen by any,
And they purged any and every, whatever, had this been a horrid, horrible pace to recieve something of thought.  
A semblance.  A symbol resembled.  What was important was not known yet, and will not be known yet, and would not be,
for some time to   come...  ..  Even though he was in this place of touch and feel, it knows that it was cursory,
and felt denatured to have been shot deep into this, even though for whence it came was frometh golden understanding and
statement.  In this establishment, he bore no trumping suit, for why he was bidden to such, this place, and given
limbs, he did not know or realize he had.it.  His nervousness, and his nervous system seemed to be sacrificing itself and 
for the salt of life, of living forth. ness.

He wouldn't go back, back to where he was before, he thought.  The safeness.  The not knowing
of mortality, the lack of realization.  The understatement of the physical, the ease/ity of/and
the feel of physics, so pure and angelic, something of complete understanding and comfort,
but of complete invention; invention for the modern world, spinning, spawning, springing forth
of chaos incarnate.  

He hung his head in tiredness.

He cupped his face with his hands.  There was a lingering feeling that this was a cliff, 
but the inverse of, where breakage left him on another side of a world, a land, a dim
ension, and an end-world; to seal all
of, with, for, in, and beyond succession.
The extension's reinvitation being long forgone.  A system that existed before, that came into reexistence
from the sun's pull into the new moon. A teaming of requisites.
what memories did he have?  Before, he thought, he at least knew there was something, 
in which the bridge thereto was bidden in blackness.

He couldn't stay where he was, he was confused.  He needed the blurriness to subside, and
something to break the wholie patterns of shattered veins pulsating, and moving with the
motion of his iris's. For them to fade.  They voluminated with his heart and his temples were
pipes of blood.  The reddening cracked symbols pulsed and died, and eventually became less
pronounced and kind.  He, after his sweat he had awakened in, had came to a calmer, less stressed state.

His limbs were tempted, to work en masse.  They yeared to get off the coldened rock.  THey could not.

He turned his eyes at black caterpillers on a stone set in the light grass near him.  He picked
one up and it immediately curled, and its prickles met his thumb and forefinger tips and
attempted to jar itself and slip out of his touch and grasp, but he caught it in his palm 
shakenly.  He carefully pried it open a bit with the other hand, and he saw
the face and its end.  They were rather non-descript, just holes really.  It began secreting
dark green liquid from one end, and his eyes widened in curiosity.  He got nervous, so he 
fumbled with the creature and put it down onto the stone where he found it.  It stayed near
-curled still while the others slowly crawled around it in diagonal patternes, none the wiser of their comrade.  
The green, thick liquid stopped but drifted slowly off of it and veered
under it and left a gobbed-up trail going down the right side of the rock.
It uncurled very slowly and became loose again, forgetting the trauma that it had incurred, 
leaning its ambiguous head from side to side as if trying to hear, and got its proper habits back in sync.

His mind was on this for a while, looking and not taking his eyes off of.  There was much
curiosity in this simple surprise and beauty.  He didn't hurt anymore.  He was still just a bit
off guard and unbalanced.  There was new feeling he felt, but of an intangible
kind, for fractions of memory and thought seemed to have been filledonly he couldn't
find them.  They seemed locked.  

It was then he glanced at a  shadow shifted in the corner of his eye.  THe eye.  Of him.  His mind's eye
made sense of this glitch and righted it.  Ye, he minded of it, off of it.
With glacier glance, precision without stratagem.  There were quiet plains to his right of him
And a few trees in the near vicinity.  All shadows were there, though the wind
seemed to have been bursting quietly in short intervals.  The breezes were quiet, emanci-
pating him from his stresses further.  He got lost in thought, thoughts of fragmentalized
events and people and places, all undefined questions, dark and also filled with bright
sparks, drawing lines that were not guiding.  These severe jumping images and revenants
pulsated and sharpened themselves and jabbed at his mind and eyes, though he still was
tranquil.  He rubbed his eyes and just let them close, his hands resting on the sides of
his stone seat, pointing away from his sides.  A clearer opening revolved around and his 
mind turned into it seeking automatically, clearness; hope.  

A softness now grew to be in his head, a dirge of sorts.  The melody was a whisper that
got louder as he kept daydreaming of this fuzziness, not of the same ilk as the conflicted/ing
apparitions as he had earlier.  It was calming and heartening, like his mind was pregnant
with a warmth that was slowly searching and would eventually get to something; relief, of
a constancy.  This meditation was is as in accord to his mind's eye, a complacent relief,
a well being, the wellness being what it had yearned for since its stoppage into wherever
he was now, a stoppage soon to lurk back and smother again/and before.  There was little
worrying though, since the musicality seemed to guide his warmth to liven and grow and
bloom certain darknesses.  
Time had passed into late after
noon and the sun was near the horizon.
His silhouette began to sway softly to his internal melody and
his mind's weaving through enlightening and pure thoughts.

The melody waned, however, and it droned out of focus, and his mind came to.  His eyes opened
blinking several times, they focused.  What they focused on was a shadow/rock.His body waned
within the melody and he felt sickly again, and meek.  There was an entire continental
mass in all directions and it would be somewhere at some point.  There was no finality to
anything whatever.  Obsolete was is/ as/ concrete.  will happen to happen too from the hip will I, 
and see one come from this with this within.  Qua  Aqua. s.  An aversion to truth had set 
in him, himin.  in.  An aversion to realness.  Gothique  tiquette  Danszhes  Sandhes  D
Dansses!  Gothitique  Danses.  Of carol calibre.  Is supposed to be composed by him, one
of many a character. a.

He purified it.  He purified the head.  Of loaf.  Red loaf. edth.

This circumscribed heart has been won and imprisoned.

A shadow'ed grass in the heart of stone, and the shaped it made in it.  He focused and he saw an eye.
It was pronounced, as if on the side of a veil, the other eye being covered, but it was just the shadow, as fine,
and hair dangled in front of the eye, blowing softly from the wind.  The figure had wringing hands, a quaint and 
complacent disposition, watching him from a grove of rocks.  The shadow moved as blurred leaves as in wind, staying where
it was, being fluttery but not sweeping.  The eye he caught blinked.  The pupil looked as a water droplet hanging from a 
dark branch.  The figure seemed to be staring at him, but from more than its eyes.  It seemed the whole soul and being of
the character imposed upon him.  There was a chilling feeling in the air, him lying half proped up, with his left arm
extending from his set elbow on the rock, half limp, while his right forearm and hand floating in air, sort of reaching for
more stability.

Figure out from brush and stone, treading on twigs in the grass and treaded what was a decent distance but seemed like longer
and ignored any afraid glances from the boy and forbeared any confusion or conclusions and intended, for whatever it wanted;
it seemed to bring itself to talk and not harm, and it would be there within no time to address him however it liked.
It was a woman, by definition, though woman was not a known term for the boy.  There were a lot of truths left blank in his
lexicon, that were to be discovered later in life.

The woman, figure, left to reach him, and reach him it did, as a simple but refined figure up to him, near him, examining him
up with a closeness, a close/d stance.  
She stood near him, and her eyes were both there, without the shadow covering the one that it had
beforehand, and she looked at him plainly and concerned.  There was no disconcertment here.  she was anew, and well traveled,
being that;  she had nubile skin shimmering with light, untouched hair and brow, also the plainest garb, a robe-like dress.
She was a renaissance of woman, the planet kin, the candour of whom which before uttered, was the kind never before
fathomed in all honesty.  She was the epitome of ever, and beyond.  
She opened her arms, her sleeves draping down, looking so warm and giving, and welcoming all; it looked like she could absorb
all in lovingness/and lovingly so.  Quiet music began to warm his ears again, a kind of voice never concieved.  He was feeling
a flow of great energy through him, from the woman, and he felt he could get up.  He did, and he continued sitting, and 
got lost in the wonder.  His ears twitched and were warmed.  He felt congenial with her.


She said, " Who are you? "
She went a bit more forward and stood calmly.  There was a connection between them.  She wasn't a thought, like all he had,
-before-, he liked the idea of her, and also the actuality of everything, the reality, what was real.  She was real, and 
he liked the idea of that.  Of this kindness was a value, and the forgiven and start of his century and his undoubted journey,
system, and silence.  The style of which was pure, but would be bogged down with destruction, lush and resonating.  His structure 
would see some space knocking downs.  Leveling.

He looked on blankly, and he bore a helpless expression.  He had absolutely no idea.  He had no name from even the space 
from whence he/it came.  She sensed this, and she knew his grief and the calmness of the air. the stir? "From the fabric of time, this
stone bed be, your bassonnette, and bassonnette be it be, as you, if when i hath been here to be, as with you, when we when,
we know it is your birth resting place, away from wrestling bitch, I Christen it calm, and you be it as well."

He was supremely innocent, sitting with no memes or knowledge of any worldly humours.  He was not polluted nor smokey.
None of his ambitions were smote, or realized.  They were underrealized and growing with him and his newness.  His flesh
was extremely nubile.  No inklings of rumours or lies or fear, just a little initial pain; he knew no the origin of complaint.
He was onlooking with open eyes as she, with curiosity, looked at him as well.  She was more learned though, and studied him
profusely.  She mentored without a word, coaxing him to say words that he knew.  "I don't know where I am," he said.  He 
stayed calm.  He was a tabula rasa, ready to be molded by whatever parent may find him.  Any surrogate, even the most
animal-like may do, and she realized that and she felt compassion and heartbreak from the staring of his wide open eyes.
To think if anyone had gotten to him but her, she shuddered.  She felt her stomach, a protrusion the boy was unaware of.
It was big, but he hadn't learned what this meant yet.  She cared if he died or not, and not sure if he knew or realized it,
she felt it and was moved and loved him. forth.  The firth between them seemed naught and the pate well grown of great love.

The woman was eloquent and she spoke forth, " I am Bethel."  A resonance with that name, against the stone walls nearby and
through the fields flew around and rang and pleasured his ears.  They felt safe.  She felt and looked shelter, and he was
enamored with her.  He was lucky to have someone found him so early in his day of night.  He was listless in his semblence,
and she smiled genuinely.  Words weren't important, and the space between them wasn't important.  It was their gazes towards
eachother that were and they were nourished and endowed with a spirit that was shared fully; as a mountain uprooted from
earth.  The implicitness was well known and welcome.

He stood up then, slowly but sure, and his feet planted in the ground sturdily and the earth was hard against his feet and 
they held to each other.  Like ghast string shadows the suture was woven, the separation forbidden.  Intermittedly, she 
reached out and touched his hand, him not knowing to bring it up to touch, but her going in to grasp it.  He felt really
welcomed and she caressed it.  Bethel was warm to the touch, and she said, "It is peaceful here, isn't it?"



They traveled near the mountains, they crossed all paths of slithering creatures.  She walked him through and explained that
she would protect him, against anything.  Where were they heading?  She was taking him to safety, but it seemed to be so far
away.  She took him to a temple.  A condemned one.  She had blessed it.  He had the mark, of red fangs upon his arms.

The highmark, ere we're inextricably connected with eachother.