nature seems to know which way the wind will blow, of course. study the man and learn his errors, or put the rubber to the road. there is only one way, though, and that is through. no effort can be made to reduce this hardship without a loss to the definition of character, which is prized, and developed solely from this process. weak systems create weak men, and the conditions set forth to create that are crimes against nature.
speaking when spoken to is the golden rule, while queries and theories can comfort any fool. i alone know nothing, a vagrant wandering aimlessly in the miasma of memetic monsters.
there is no source of truth for the washed out and wicked. the devil plays in moonlight while the reaper favors day. cash crops and long stocks won’t break the bonds that suffer all. fecund focus finds fortune, as an aimless asshole assures annihilation. spokes in the wheel of time cannot be measured by weak eyes or small hands, quivering, frail in the shadows walking witless. it’s dismissed.