"Well, alright. Okay.
"Enough for now. I'll be real.
"None of those usual written cycles. Instead, the election is finally--wait, but have you ever tried to see your surroundings in only two dimensions? Maybe you should look up for a moment and try. I mean really try, for several minutes straight with unprecedented perseverance, sitting still so your eyes harden. The objects and the walls behind them on the same plane.
"Your facial expression might turn into something buggy and your roommate might walk in on you. Even if such an embarrassment does not happen, which it didn't to me, mind you, no, not at all, you might almost get there but will find it impossible to remove yourself from your three dimensions. (And maybe your fourth, too. Sort of.) Even though I can't remove myself there are still times (like at present) where I feel as though I am sitting upon objects that have been tugged out from a sketchbook, and that I myself have the same pair of flat aspects. If I move it is upon only two axes.
"Now I'll tell you something about myself, something that I have taken the time to decide to give out. All I really want to do is ask people questions. Many times it will be to get to know them but, after a point, many times it will be to try and see a change in how they view their selves or their pasts. Kind of like a work of art will do, just sitting there while your depths talk to it. Inserting my own outlook into your hindsights. Some things, though, I can not inquire. Some art does not present its most desirous questions outright, instead it stays still in the hopes that you will say of your own will to say. It is at times a fortune, at times a misfortune, that not all questions are bound to be asked.
"But these comparisons are dreams of the tartest vanity: to affect an envisioned virtue; to make seeing different and likened to mine; dreams spent out while leaning on my bed as if it were a pad's paper.
"And yet the question is whether some little thing in a sketchbook is really art.
"Oh, whoops."
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