The twisting and turning, grumbling, churning, elation, desperation and more.
Reflexive minds compacting semiotics until an inevitable meaninglessness rears up in smugness.

"There is Nothing here.

Nothing for you

Nothing Of you.

Nothing."

The mind begins again, fumbling, stumbling, eureka-ing, ambling, grasping and more.
Reflexive minds compacting semiotics until an inevitable meaninglessness rears up in smugness.

"There is Nothing here.

Nothing for you,

Nothing Of you,

Nothing."

The mind will not accept, that it, in it's biological supremacy, is simultaneously, Nothing.
A joke.
Some vapid expression of consciousness.
The mind will only protect, that which it most values; Esteem.
Reverence of it's own structure.
The Marvel.
A human, student, sales-assistant, a sister...
...Something? ...Anything?...

"There is Nothing here.

Nothing for you,

Nothing Of you,

Nothing."

The mind is a tool, one of the most primitive.
Natural selection adding accessories like some distasteful outfit.
The mind means well.
Aching to Justify, with inelegant adjectives, it's fondness of itself.
Petrified of it's "Nothingness";  
The wordlessness that conveys meaning no mind can ascribe to language.

"There is Nothing here.

Nothing for you,

Nothing Of you,

Nothing."


please Stop mind.

The thrashing and the squirming,
stop flexing your Precocious Verbiage.

just stop.

.
.


allow Me to quell your convolution, using your own Pig English;

you are unequivocally a  Thing.

And, there IS Nothing here.
And it is NOT For you.
And it is not OF you.

//It//Is//Nothing//

you, Are a possession,
I, the possessor.
Therefore you,
My most precious of things,

Will never fathom Me.

.

Because you are Something,
and so, you are not.

But I am Nothing.

For, I - am.