Blind perfection

Every longing, driven by the wild restlessness, finds its hope in the overflow of its steadiness. The eternal search for the attainment of creation, sensing the distractions left behind, whose perfection produces straight grooves. Softness falls from the centre of chaos, displeasure's exteriority constantly removed. If the will to find is integrated into the being of events, dispersion finds its beginning and end at every lemniscate point. The power of the spirit leaves things unseen, their poles removed from the norm, subject to their own blindness inside and out

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