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And Some Believe In Asymptotes

 It has the dead beat of future days…

Whereas Sargon, in this particular dreamscape, wished only to perhaps become a brewer of fermented grains—or cupbearer anyway, let’s say—Ashurbanipal always knew from childhood that he would engage as leader of an early civilization and subject to historians. Images carved on stele attest that Ashurbanipal sat in big chairs. By new chances and all clerical errors the tune of history changed as present tense became more convertible, usable, irresistible, and just plain catastrophic. Sargon grew to world-bending Greatness two millennium before Ashurbanipal, ending his dreams of boozy influence. or whatever fulfillment he might’ve in the final concoction, but dissatisfaction could never die. Civilization fetched up these players and human gravity applied the force. You the consequence. Only grandness and title survives in the living overflow of nuclear spirit. Son of a priestess of Ishtar, who placed him baby in a boat for reason, twisted Sargon mind around scale and fabulous increase. And so he conquer the unshrouded world, and all the dilettantes ring praises. Thus herewith the beginning starts, with grains fermented and cities stating natural converse of power and inception. Believe any tale as finely told as civilized nature and wars tuned forward for betterment and cleansing. Any word can be deftly believed, even proto-writing in wet clay. Sargon grew stout in history long before Ashurbanipal became prime mover and civilization’s chapter heading. By the time we needed him, Ashurbanipal had a big library full of cuneiformed tablets and gestures from such time spent, well before the future could unfold. Please to see fertile crescents for yourself, the gracious act of grandeur and power over hayseeds and nothingness. Much can be trumped by the stink of progress.


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