A burden trespass

Yes, by all means, mr. Chasm says to miss Olgram.
You would think it is right, he should comebarging in like that, after all he has been warned.

Miss Olgram a pretty twenty some years old adventurer-writer, concurred. “Yes, that is so. One would expect much more of a sense of maturity out of him. Pity, he was recognized there, in spite of the get ups he so valiantly tried to put on”

The way he swaggered in, thinking he can just put on another aspect and get away with it. Tsk, tsk tsk.

The have him analyzed for the sham, and the supposed scrutiny was equally redundant. And yet he heeded to stay. He needed it even within this simulated ambiance, low lights, despairing sigh not with standing.

This is the end, from Spectra have You seen it trying to make casual conversation.

Must I make allusion to Godot? Must You give up waiting? It is in the waiting, that we find most fun, Inthe anticipation, that for sure voids much pain.

After all, You came in but descency dictates.

She nervously brought out flails freshly matriculated in Crimson, as she listed, yes yes but haven’t You heard of the mixing masks? Haven’t You learned Your lesson, that it’s just a big learning experience for all? That the Internet helps to decode even the most strange language ?

And he stood up on the pedestal, holding onto the brass arms extending his arms in a posture of mixed bravado, and rebellion,

Now, here, here, this all, is very pernicious. No one knows , except the Almighty what be takes of the need, but for those, for whom setting the stage toward those, for whom to care, is not self serving,…

Here she exclaims suddenly, muffling the juke box, “for who would believe it”?

And then out of the shadows, a light little voice, “but I would”,and looking there , being no one, perhaps again it’s that voice?

Nonono. Codes are strange. As people are. They have layers and layers of combinations underneath,
the most complex usually on the top. Gets progressively hard to figure.

The learned and the wise not nearly in perfect congruency. Ever. Only when finished and done for, may some simulation, bravely come through in tandem.

(and even then sprightly gingerly, so as not to leave anything unsettled, tread , usually with a group of the kindred).

Miss Ogalthorp asks him if he was followed and he says probably, not sure, you never can tell, You know. And I assure You dear lady, if I have, my lips are sealed, …

“In this now days of age ,one never knows”.

“This is totally unacceptable, for sure, but had to say something, not out of fear you understand, and the matter is far from being settled”

She left, or is she leaving? May ever know. And then? Another life, another time, a life line, instant karmic delight, for a moment.

Last Call, as the lights go on, the night becomes as the air perfumes with fragrance of the dying dama’de
noche, the open door vibrates with the panick of the still, lonely cars, having not been able to pick up that
illusory body , which may for moment escape into the delusion that it is her.

It does not die, in spite , after many a summer.

Not enough descriptors, and too esoteric. Much meaning making is required.

Also i dont find waiting fun, but I see what you mean because the ancipation is exciting and anticipation is fun, waiting, not so much.

And I see and appreciate Your fine line between anticipation and waiting. Some can’t wait, they are so impatient, to get ~ there, wherever that is. Some, have learned a few lessons about that, as soon as You get there, You anticipate the next thing going there, then.

Besides, I agree with Your assessment of being eclectic, and not adjective enuf, descriptive is the word, I am new here, and I do not claim a patent finesse to achieved style. Thus: Thanks, me spurious, and either feel undervalued, or over the top, trying to achieve literary middle ground. That said, glad to know You, here. …

A good prose/poem. The waiting may be for the fragile instances in which we see each other not through our personal egos. To paraphrase Eliot, we put on a face to meet the faces that we meet. We are waiting for the Godot moment, the instance of clarity beyond the I. Such instances are rare, given the fact that we don the personal in order to shield ourselves from the cold of all that is impersonal.
Welcome to ILP.

Yes, that makes good sense. The motive behind the poem of unraveling behind the symbolic in verse, is similarly infused within the topical mask of its re-presentation. It is the appearent summation, yet often beset with doubt, as to which is the appropriate mask, the overall effect.

It is worn by matter of fact, assumed reflex, and usually there need no analysis behind them.
Nice meeting You. Been reading some of Your work. Am not yet quite prepared to give it justice by commenting on them.