Confuseus, you swinehund

 

Confuseus say, "Only a fool prevents beautiful words from becoming beautiful deeds."

How is that the tinting of life drabbles from pink, to green, to gray, and then all around again, until at least, we forget or ignore outright the meanings of each?

Loflin Underhill says beautiful deeds are blissful ignorance in the abolition of mind. Similarly is the oblivion of trees that have lauded the ground headlong and not been allowed the dignity of heard sound.

Wherever was the beginning and end? Bereft of such nominative constraints as rhyme, reason, rising action, denouement, Confuseus was, as he so often said, water. His story was what the reader saw inside, and little else outside. Whosoever's interpretive matrices, was/is the pen and ink of the story of Confuseus.