how_is_it alceda how is it, then, that i'm told it's all over? already i tell it to myself, sometimes - i guess i'll say it now: the word fate how is it, then, mine's a road ever-shortening by the distance i've covered? who agglutinate my telomeres by what i lose and i've lost and i'm losing by the wayside, or maybe, i creep up a dress size, collecting nicks like nacks and lines end-times it's like it's fate, my novel, pretold of my fading of novelty - this ragwort, this duckling, this meadow - like i've seen it all before like it's all blather to aether or aether to blather forced march to indifference but excuse me, forsooth me, because no, no, it's not like that at all - i see more - i see more, every time - my shorter road of riches 260814 what's it to you? who go blather from