Nothing more to say

I cannot contemplate myself from the outside

I intend to follow this line until I reach the end. There is no other purpose for these words than to exist on the page and remain moving forward, intentionally, creating a shape which may or may not have a purpose. I intend to remain here, now, knowing -intuiting -that it is unnecessary to have purpose, when the sole intention is to create beauty. Beauty has no meaning. Beauty cannot have a purpose. Beauty only exists for the one (the lucky one) who is able or willing to perceive it. Is this beautiful? how can I know? I cannot contemplate myself from the outside and therefore I am unable to perceive my beauty. I am, however, able (and willing) to believe I am beautiful; and because beauty lies within the eyes of whoever believes something is beautiful there is no way to contradict this sentence: I am beauty. I am beautiful. I have all the necessary components that make anything beautiful. I resemble the sunset, a teardrop, a building, a fly, an expression, a written sentence, ti...

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An entry to solve the puzzle

As availability rises on top of what is set upon, misguided informants preclude what is deemed to stop for whatever reason. There is no mistake in finding what may be lost. There is a time where all communications besides what is informed become clear, whenever purposes abide by the time something is real. As it has been said before, all inclusions can only be assumed if there is a phonograph available to store what is left from the right. In searching for these and other answers, I become mentally impaired to attract the fundamental equations that support what is written in these sentences. Feel free to stop by. As the shadow of whatever is struck upon the face of martyrdom, simply replying to a message opens up the possibility to rise the common sense of starvation. However, if there seems to be no boundary tied to whatever is written on the page, I cannot abide if there is an opportunity to strive towards what is if there is not an is but an if. In spite of all these sentences,...

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I am an incomplete paragraph

I am an incomplete paragraph. I can express, using these tools, all that there is to express; and yet, I shall remain incomplete. I can believe that I withhold all the information that is available. I can re late, using different combinations of words, all the different stories from this and other universes, told from many diverse points of view, and that will not change the fact that I am incomplete. And it is not because I don't have enough space or memory but rather because nothing -no one -is able to perceive me entirely: I can be seen only in this moment, here, but I cannot be seen here and somewhere else simultaneously. Once your gaze sets upon the following sentence, whatever happened in the previous one remains only as a memory, a point of reference, an introduction whose only purpose is to serve the following sentence; each word being only a vehicle to guide itself to the following one, not necessarily expressing something as a whole but rather giving way for each word t...

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