Relative Something

It is quite possible that you weren’t expecting it at this point in the continuation of all things, but, yes folks, it is already that time again for the unabashed rampage of sentence-be-damned ruminations to flow unadulterated with pure impunity in the ongoing quest for greater enlightenment and insight from the flowing stream that is commonly referred to as consciousness regardless the entirely unconscious way the fingers become exercised in the art of hunting and pecking as a result of the involuntary habit that forms in which the pinky bounces the delete key repeatedly to back up and take a second stab at hitting the letters in the proper order which forms a recognizable word sometimes in the neighborhood of one that is meant to be and not one of those made-up attempts to force a high scoring play in a turn on Words With Friends that sounds good at the time but never seems to appease the all too strict censor programmed into the App, which when downloaded as the free version, comes with its own little psychology experiment of force-fed advertisements that stare at otherwise innocent victims in a constant barrage of push this button – no not yet – okay, now, as if the repetition will produce a higher likelihood of surrender and eventual acquiescence in the form of prying open the tightly held purse-strings and shelling out the few pennies it would take to stop the attacks in a departure from laboring to maintain the principle of proving there is enough will power in the world to outlast those who concoct such manipulatory manifestations in the guise of logical protection from dwindling assets at the expense of missing the forest for the trees at a time when the woods are no longer buried under mounds and mounds of the white stuff that used to fall a lot in the winter in the parts of the world where that’s what used to happen when it got cold because the angle of the earth meant that the hours of daylight diminish to the point that people become sad and workers with day-jobs can find themselves leaving home in the dark in the morning and returning home in the dark in the evening as if daytime never happened and the hours of drudgery to earn the compensation that might allow a person to eat a meal or keep a roof to sleep under somehow all happen in no time at all and the concept of time is just a figment of some planner’s brilliant imagination to bring order to otherwise limitless freedom from worrying about being late or on time or even the simple fact of ever getting to a point that would reward the incredible tenacity of someone who would actually hang in there long enough to inhale all the words streaming out of one man’s crazy mind in the late hours, or is that early, I don’t know, but the least I could do is write something profound like the quip I posted on Google+ yesterday which wasbecause I liked the font that I stumbled upon in making the prior day’s Words on Images post which was a simple poke at it being Monday and my tendency to feel an aversion to the first day of the work-week since I’m one of those going to a day-job that doesn’t involve being outside in the fresh air taking care of horses, which, of course, is the plan that I aspire to achieve in the not too distant future and imagine what that might do to the stream of conscious writing that rolls out of my keystrokes!