𝖂𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖊

Comprehension, my deer, for the third time, since when will lettuce be severe? As always, when deluded. If theorems are fine, how then are you sounding? Sounds like arachnids, falling forth. How then shall we know for certain the course of certainty? For certainly one thing is certain. For certainty's sake, that is. We must cast all things out of ourselves until we no longer feel empty inside. And then burn mind to fill the void. As if. Nobody feels the knowledge. Nobody hears the scent of time. After all, one can only know what two have breathed. And two can only breathe what three theorized, which they cannot do unless one has known. Knowledge like ice. It holds and binds. Wooden are the limbs of those who stretch only to see. And blind are those who do not exercise vision. None can see what was not foreknown. Foreknowledge, the fool's barnacle and spite's eye. It is dumb, speaking not for no sound is present without silence. All who see what is to come are taken aback and stumble over events unknown. Thus the severity of the lettuce is no measure of its faith.