words, words flow on pages, from times and places, familiar in space and that continuum of the universe, knowledge representation, paths, steps, footsteps, a familiar face, recognition but not quite, was it? could it have been? maybe. maybe not. catch 22's, double edged swords, not even a hilt, just a long sharp edged blade, no matter where you grab, no matter how you carry it, you bleed, much like roses with thorns, to pick them, the beauty, the aroma, the blood, but i speak in code, at least not python, but the rose covered book, a book, a novel, it speaks volumes, it tells me things, grabs me, holds my attention in a vise, visits places i might have never gone back to, or maybe, but such is the study of history