so they claim. but if you can change on thing that is done on each day's waking, don't you change everything on that same day's waking? nothing happened until i made it happen. nothing will happen again until i make it so. my hell, your heaven...or is it the other way around? there is no redemption...only eternal grief.

limbs stretch out as the beating duo upon the uneven topographical features stretch out to pretain to three beats, unclad hooves not caring for any slips it may come across. what is pain but a fleeting feeling? sure, it kills at first, then it dims and diminishes eventually.

twin towers rotate as much of a 360 degree sonar scan as possible, taking in with it the wonderous ability of sound recording. the welkyn meets somewhere with the sky, though where it is unsure. just somewhere, somewhere as it turns from navy to black as the night line falls to a crashing open. that's how it works, is it not?

hock-kisser drapes itself out on the winds, uncaring as to what the wind might have to say in protest. it's only a voiceless sound, after all. no voice, no choice, no matter to those who dominate. tresses of the fore fan out, though much shorter, yet they none the less do. the three beats speed in their timing, though never once do they break to the fast-paced four, and never once do they falter to a two or one, or even stop at all for sake of regaining vital balance. no, it is not the needed point at this rate. it just is.

the fan-fair and it's carnival are ahead, easily seen. duo-coloured auds flick around as the blurred map passes, recreating it's jogging and overloading effect on the controls and their file cabnets. must remember to hire new guys up there. no notice is taken, but yet it is known, as the form continues it's trek, that the tresses behind have the mark, the single black mark in either fore or rear banners: that of the butterfly when fanned. this is the butterfly effect. get ready for the redoubling.

thEbutterflYeffecT