Repeating

Let it flow to your fingers and out to the open ether where the stories all go to slumber in their afterlife for when a tale is told it ceases to be unborn and thus has nothing more than an inkling of its nascent potential and yet it is said that a narrative will grow in the mind of those that nurse it gently with motivated thinking and personal experiences that clear up all the fog introduced by language rather than by direct personal revelation from God or Satan or whatever you decide to male of it as you sip a beer and take the hour between your friends' meeting with a friend to reflect and collect the many nets cast out today through the Internet in search of living food from the ocean of trivia and bits and clicks.