Blasphemous Rumors

Let this be my "42," my perfect utopia, the "matters I have diligently analysed and pondered for a long time, and now, having summarized them in a little book, I am sending them to Your Magnificence." (The Prince, Niccolo Machiavelli)

Let this be my dream turned reality, the flow of consciousness I never could say, for all the dreamers who could never wake up, for the muse begging me to do what I used to love before.

Because this fantasy is where I want to be, where I can go, but now it will be even harder to leave. These little blurbs swimming in my mind, in between memory and the fuzz almost forgotten, cannot be abandoned.

So begins the telling of the blasphemous rumors.