The transport speaks.
The signal sent into restless circulation.

A privilege of being a pedestrian is to be continually set within story time.

Two vans drive by in livery proclaiming: Freedom.
Immediately behind follows a van whose bold letters proclaim: Sanctuary.
Quickly then, a fourth van pulls alongside and its signage says: Cinderella.

Ah, El of the cinders, phoenix divinity; my mind and heart arise in consonance:
You shall go to the ball.

The harmony of the night will ring out through the world; the star of love shall resonate and re-shape all forms.

We take another step and another. A sign by the junction proclaims:

How long does it take to reform the psyche?
In an instant.

How long is an instant sufficient to make itself known?

The psyche may be considered as a task.
Its task is to be unknowable.

This impossible psyche is adaptable and flowing even in its most rigid structures.

persisting and elusive, 
this is the presence of the task.
The task permeates and supports each moment of the person.

Each moment of the person is a tasking of personhood with the transport of the psyche.
Psyche as the moment in its glimmering mode, a vehicle and the track.

There is a traffic jam, and the expression on every driver’s face is readable unreadable, unwarranted, masks of a terrible testimony.

When the task fails it becomes visible psyche.
When the moment cannot be adapted, flooded, folded, run with and ran around, so does the psyche’s structure become obvious. We rage against its charlatanism.

The road is never more obvious as when nothing moves upon it and, throughout the snarl-up, all questions are refused. Know one knows why there is a hold-up. No one knows why they are even attempting to travel in this direction. 

Psychic entertainment will be deemed an illness.
Your fuming bile sets like concrete.

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