Leapfrogging through time and space. Giant steps to places that others may only have glimpses of, but need to reach in baby-step increments. Do we hurry our turtle's pace? Is this a turtle and rabbit town?

What speed limits are self-imposed and which live in the domain of good taste and master patience alone? It may be a question not answered on primetime but alive in the hearts of lesser men. It may not be formed as a Michelangelo question but formed in the shape of a man (or woman, bull, field mouse) or the shape of monolithic architecture. Change comes as a tornado. As a slow water torture within a prostrate form of flesh or stone.

Why didn't they commit a healthy suicide of love? A synchronous deathslide into the evermore. Run to a nunnery--or get thee, to some. Giddy in the abyss.

Love shorn locks, blue tinged freedom, before the birth of the world and the encumbrance of personalities known under a crown of thatched, dishwater know-how. Can't beat the price. Couldn't slap helmet on the slip-shod, scuffle drawn countenance.

That may end the meadering in this particular tangent. Can't figure out the planning in the plan. Keeping a close watch on the ever-morphing past. Got the future down. Scripted.

I do not need to know right now.

Well, all that is