I haven't posted on this blog for some time. It seems ancient to me now, rife with the reflections of a boy, for we are in perpetual contempt of our former selves. Upon the eve of a technological and (hopefully) cultural renaissance, we must beg the question: are these convictions, words so warbled in vanity but landmarks to drive the high-powered perception of future contempt?
In the midst of these reflections arises a poem:
Dreams aloft in still silence
where a giant sleeps