uncollegiality

I know what the Dean thought and have audiographic memory at times referred to as eidatic.  

 

 I sponsor a line of communication to reach the bell averages to put it in brief, they still require several other languages added in the assay, to become a full tongue.  The mystery not who can write the great american novel but who can do so using the language of its home before evaluating a master?  I began reading on sight with one lesson later than I would have wanted to--the main gist of this association--at kindergarten.  For the schools contrived to debase me with precepts such as childhood games, moats of simplification and their development.  I doubt mine was the cause of the mix-up.  It was not the first time the normies had done so.  THey look fresh for cuttings they think of as their brains dreamt over.  

 

The bunch is not too bright.  Poor souls among them must realize the natural truth.  We have come to detest the grip of their sycophanies, tiresome as moats of oil on sheen.  The entire crew devises a way to assay another.

Once upon the crossing of the green lawns with a sudden rush to my visage, an ambiguity of racial misgenenation such that thought mine was less mindsome than theirs, approached with findings of my percentiles and rankings.  They’d created an algorithm for my specific biological parturition abaiting the governer it was hot, passion reflex with admixes of missions-- schools--residencies--religion camps--trains.  The truth had been ventured out quite deep into my genetics, like the bedsheets of my parents were masting a fetish--I know--this isn’t even the beginning.

The two had met out in Sante Fe from a mutual form of exile or ostracism and brandishing a tragicomedy that stretched their tender souls through borders that born across the alternatives were nothing.  The average among us are burdensome.  They assay a leashed dog with a pedicure more illustrious than Narcissus and that’s why it is difficult more than anything to speak of what should wish to be the writing of the day but a purgative -- a Dante without rhyme--the reason for Homer’s blindness--and how though it feathered a world couldn’t prevent the same from going to blunders.

Upon review of my experience and work, the Dean said, “what now would you need?   You’ve done everything.”

How the opinion turned around is the bit this manuscript chews to the crumbling crumbs for that’s what’s germaine in these letters.