I heard of another; one Individual. A writer by all accounts. Unhappy with his work, he dreamt of a moment in which he might find a solution, and with it respite from his torment; the cause of his escapist habit. Had he refrained, by all means he may eventually have found his salvation, yet he was unable to halt this anecdotal tendency.
Immersed, accidentally on purpose, he was removed from the necessity of dealing with his reality; he dwelt instead on anticipation of what it would feel like; that moment of relief when he would find a direction which he could then devote himself to.
At some point, after much spent time, an idea came to him, quite unexpectedly: abruptly. Relief swept in, with focus and eye opening clarity. He no longer secretly willed the descent of his daydreaming habit that diverted him; it was obsolete.
Lucid, he sat, noting it down. Next to continue. He stared at the page, but the next step, the next movement was hidden from him. It had started in his dream; but no longer lost, he seemed unable to follow it. He willed his mind to drift back into diversion, by it was no use seeking it. To his detriment he knew this idea, this one thought, was the one he had been looking for, and within it hope - the only problem was he seemed to be constantly chasing it. The first line lay written, but each after could not catch its glory. He tried returning to the words, recounting them, attempting to continue his train of thought. Like the retracing of steps to retrieve a forgotten intended task. However he was only greeted with the realisation that his hopeful idea has rid him of the facility of escapism.
A new dream tempts him; to return to that previous state so that he might relive that long desired moment of finding a solution, and this time gripping tightly so he may know the next. But, a moment later, he realises the flaw; encapsulated in his reverie he would be unable to record his thoughts. Severed from his skill they may yet be lost again. I heard he stopped, avoiding the risk.
I heard of another; one Individual. A writer by all accounts. Unhappy with his work, he dreamt of a moment in which he might find
absolution, and with it respite from his torment; the cause of his escapist habit. Had he
retrained, by all means he may eventually have found his salvation, yet he was unable to halt this
antidote tendency.
Immersed, accidentally on purpose, he was removed from
any necessity of dealing with his reality; he dealt instead on anticipation of what it would feel like; that moment of
belief when he would find a
decision which he could then
dote to.
At some point, after much
pent time, an idea came to him, quite unexpectedly: abruptly. Relief swept in, with focus and eye opening clarity. He no longer secretly willed the descent of his daydreaming habit that diverted him; it was
obsessive.
Lucid, he sat, noting it down. Next to continue. He stared at the page, but the next step, the next movement was hidden from him. It had started in his dream; but no longer lost, he seemed unable to follow it. He willed his mind to
tip back into diversion, by it was no use seeking it. To his detriment he knew this idea, this
only thought, was the one he had been looking for, and within it hope - the only problem was he seemed to be constantly chasing it. The first line lay written, but each after could not
snatch at its glory. He tried returning to the words,
counting them, attempting to continue to
rein in his thoughts. Like the retracing of steps to retrieve a forgotten past
intended. However he was only greeted with the realisation that his
hopeless idea has rid him of the
fiction of escapism.
A new dream
tricks him; to turn to that previous state so that he might
retrieve that long desired moment of finding a solution, and this time gripping
sprightly so he may know the
rest. But, a moment later, he
reached a flaw; trapped in his reverie he would be unable to
hoard his thoughts. Severed from his skill they may yet be lost again. I heard he stopped, avoiding the risk.
I heard of another; one
Indistinguishable. A writer by all accounts. Unhappy
with to work, he dreamt of a moment in which he might find
absolution, and with it
spite his torment; the cause of his escapist habit. Had he
retrained, by all means he would eventually have found his salvation, yet he was unable to
arrest this antidoting predisposition.
Immersed, accidentally
with purpose, he was removed from
any necessity of dealing with his
insanity; he
knelt instead at anticipation of what it would feel like; that moment of
belief when he would find
derision which he could then
dote to.
At some point, after much
pent time, an idea came to him, quite unexpectedly:
bluntly. Relief
crept in, with focus and eye opening clarity. He no longer
sneakily willed the descent of his daydreaming habit that diverted him; it was
obstructive.
Lucky, he sat, noting it down. Next to
condense. He stared at the page but the next moment was
hideous for him. It had started in his dream; but no longer lost, he seemed unable to
feel it. He willed his mind to
tip back into diversion, by it was no use seeking it. To his detriment he knew this idea,
this only thought, was the one he had been looking for, and
with it hope - the only possibility to
relentlessly chase it. The first line lay written, but each after could not
even snatch at its glory. He tried
returning to words,
counting them, attempting
to rein his thoughts. Like the replacing of steps to
relieve a
forgotten past intended. However he was only greeted with the realisation that his
hopeless idea has rid him of the
fiction of escapism.
A new dream
tricks him; to
spurn to that previous state so that he
might reseed that long desired moment of finding a solution, and this time
gripping despite so he may
show how the rest. But, a moment later, he
reached a flaw;
snapped in his reverie he would be unable to
hoard his thoughts. Severed from his skill,
now lost again. I heard he stopped, avoiding the risk.
Italics - Words and phrases changed in second and third repeats.
The second block is a manipulated repeat of the first; the third, the second. In some instances I have changed words to those similar in sound, easily misheard. Sometimes they
rhyme, sometimes they share similar meaning, sometimes they
exaggerate, sometimes they over react. I have attempted to keep it making sense, although at times it may seem less so.
'Ed Vetter (S.B. 1942) gave MIT an apple tree that is a direct descendant of the tree under which Isaac Newton sat when he is said to have conceived the theory of gravity. This fall, the beloved tree bore bright, healthy fruit--a sure sign of flourishing and a link between past and present days.'
'LEGEND HAS it that Sir Isaac Newton's initial theories about gravity came about in 1666 while sitting under his famed apple tree. Now that tree has come to York - or at least part of it.
'Newton's Apple Tree Bears Fruit Nine years after it was planted outside Behlen Laboratory, the cutting from Newton’s famous apple tree has flourished and matured and in fall 2000 produced its first apples.