Frankly speaking, externalities aside, there seems to be a paradoxical nature to the idea that markers bring people together—breaking the ice and silence that was once before. What about rubber bands and cost prices, blue plastic chairs, and drawing competitions? That goes without saying, like happy days falling into the palm of your hands. Holding Gatsby, who has now turned green with great envy, surely one can make meaning out of his highlights. Spectrum of colours makes its visits purposeful, there is comic sense in over-running. Supplies in the middle of the night anticipate the day that has yet to come. There are notes on the back, notes of the black, notes that are back, notes back to back. Look for purple streaks in garden states, cables over my head, search the skies for octopus’ sake, and should you find the belt, wear it safe. Finding beggars’ paradise in one’s constant dreams and goals, surely there is allure in such an enigmatic pool of wonder. Technically speaking, there is no term for what this is, but no one can truly put a finger on content. Man, nothing like the present—Walk the talk, there are bridges to cross, eye contact to make. Meet me by the water; all’s worth the wait.
Notes
