Explain it as if to a child, not as if to someone quite confused.
It's a problem when one is quite confused, to the point of befuddled not-exactly
oneness. I've fallen off the line, jammed with peanut butter, a dragon in mouseland,
unprepared to simplify my language to the point of intelligibility. That's immaturity,
a drunk dictionary that is not self-aware, an unconsciousness flexing its dendrites
to see what they can do. Muscle cars and crepuscular stars, that was the twenties in
every generation and century. They share a creeping wish for horror in which the
main character is the only survivor. And then it happens. Alone. Darkness. And just
another day in life's life. Abstraction, again not for children, but perhaps one day
I will be wise enough to put things in such a way that even I can understand.
Roman Ryan 