fighting for time, in the here and now, left with minutes to spare, to the rear, in the back admist the ruins, finding pennies on the sidewalk, stopped to pick it up, brought luck, and fortune, full cookies with nuggets of wisdom, confucian truths, and sidetracked, always sidestepped, dancing, not just the boxy foxtrot, but more advanced, more flowing and fluid, more grace in avoiding responsibility and deadlines, properness, victorian platitudes, and levels, achieved stage x, beat boss sub level 7, and the key is given, taken, and the exit found, swirling away to the next, walled mazes from the start to the exit, thrown down, and four to find their way, but such as it is, as it ever was, and that's not even the best blessing, for the irish do it best. it is but simple truths, confused by wordly crystalization.