if omni orbis est scena ring true... we can confine the aktor in the mould of a medax -
halfwit minotaur... culprit and the scalped crown...
i have the bloom of whatever flower i take to choosing - and the remains: an engraving of hopes, dirges, and desires... whispered fragrances to allocate a foothold of cerberus's stood ground...
barking, whining, whimpering, howling and desiring the lodgings of a smoked timber-frame -
revealed in the immediate circumstance - as the loss of the ultimatum: the penultimate loss - the one, pondering death... the one: once discarding, now all the more embracing...
all word is a stage, given an actor present... but no stage is ever a stage, where no actor takes to invite the world being staged...
in the guise of a worldly staged loss of a reckoning - to no stage an equivalent world - to no actor an equivalent role -
there is a confirmation nonetheless - a stage empty, without actor, is a world emptied with a labour that otherwise demands a caress of a soothing tongue - in replica, as in non-replicating take on disaster - a formality of re-introduction.