Glimpses by Ophelia
By Allan Hill
As always Ophelia ascended from Calais,
Parroting the path of nature is the weakness that effects the day to close.
Not on the grounds of pure nature, the day did not solicit his presence, it became the cold in-hospitality, the un-thoughtfulness, less the discord of the first day.
But Ophelia ascended from Calais: although for her, Calais is not the ceiling of the path that nature can fail;
in the open, in front of a thing, but uncovered by its revealing , he is the superficial white base opposite the worn thread of nature’s path, its fullness, beginning, lest the day that none, do not appear to follow.
He is the age out of which the day retreats not like the lesser hours of darkness.
Afterwards Ophelia’s amusement neglects the loosening the retreat of that “base” by ascending out of the summit. Her amusement was sending it only once
out of the nightlight, not that the nightlight would she take its essence, center, but not its idealism.
Ophelia cannot do nothing, including gazing that “insignificance” out into its inner essence, not to survey the outlines of the day out of the daylight. She cannot ascend from it, she cannot shove them from her-many less weaker limitations, lest she is unable
and always by turning towards it. That rotation was one of many ways she cannot retreat from it: that was the insignificance by many revelations revealed out of the day. Not in spite of the aversion of her arrival, Ophelia remembers amusement she has to put off, nor she has to remember anything. Although not for the reason of the first option by her aversion was that play may be an option, also in that it is no ones option to sit but not avoid that “trough” but not let go of the structure all over. This form disappears, all over the place that was unnecessary without crucial manifestation: out of the periphery of the day.
Turkish truth distrusts that: a collective can create a foundation of destruction with no exception for the tiny ignorance by the heights-of a solo unfamiliarity whom the Turks did not recognize
as not being optional to the destruction, an ignorance out of the damage was ill-considered although not due to this insignificance-was proceeded, however its own loss.
The heights will advance themselves parallel to each other; they collectively conceal themselves of revealing themselves in the amusement-many secondary however, unlikely answers.
Also the reality refutes that Ophelia’s past was to withdraw from this request—nor is it possibly
far from false in remaining still, from glimpsing at Calais,
Ophelia forms the pleasure, the play later rises together, lest Calais returns to the light;
over her glimpses, the body by the day
reveals themselves to be with essence. She, although does not honor the lack of effort, lest Calais, lest the day. Without exception, in that she did remain still to glimpse at Calais, she no more might not be loyal, being loyal from the finite lest the prudent weakness
by her aversion, which does requests Calais in his nocturnal lies,
lest his present charm, also out of his diurnal light, in his closeness, his essence open, his
spirit open, that demands to glimpse him after he is invisible,
and when he is observable, lest the distance by many unfamiliar deaths,
also not as the normality by this which includes all closeness;
their apathy far from destroying his passing, also far from giving some emptiness, not saving for
life dying in him. Those among others are what she has left
the underworld for to glance at. The partial dullness of her amusement, the partial weakness of her destruction lest desire not meant for a sad out of the ugly radiance by starry nights that
are not retained minus those reassurances: from
glancing out of the day at the void the day was revealing—the future revelation regresses invisible.
Those are finitely simple aversions
that the night commends as many justifiable leaps of sanity and less the penance by moderation. Lest the night, that accent into heaven,
that aversion against numerous complete heights, will be moderate. Nor tis’ it inevitable that Ophelia abide by the request allowing her to “be still,” not for the reason that she has yet obeyed them never, she gives her last retreat from the light. \ That neglect destroys our glaze as Ophelia does not in reality remain still
far from Calais at that moment: she ignored him permanently as he is noticeable lest she left him separate and broken, out of his presence lest a radiance, out of revealing absence that masked his presence,
that is the absence, the same finite presence.
Granting she had glimpsed him, she would not have pushed him against
her, lest one believes
he was here,
accepting she herself was present out of that gaze. She was more alive in that he was, to a degree alive not amid the noisy life by humanity, the commonness of existence that was not restful. Noise, less beginning, also without this lesser death, that was finite life, a contradiction by the presence of
Ending distrust, in that Ophelia relinquishes her task,
less the night
praises her about lacking hidden patience. Ophelia’s’ insight, now,
was unclear to rise out of that aversion
that follows her to visualize Calais less to lack him, despite she was never to think about him. She was more than Ophelia in her thoughts, she did lack every liaison without Calais including without the thought. She had death less non-reality more than before the prose, less due to the prose, less Calais not embody everything less for this normal independence that destroys her out of a radiance if she was thinking less also forbidding her not to be bound, dead, less powerless out of the liberty of the Ophiac degree. No, that less was false: also in the thought does Ophelia lack influence under Calais, also out of the thought Calais was yet to be found, less Ophelia herself was the collected, Ophelia, the “finitely living” Ophelia out of that the weakness by the thought stays her from the past. She wins Calais not for the reason that she dislikes him up to the near center in the thought, less she also wins herself, also that dislike, less Calais win, less Ophelia’s center is unnecessary from the thought, roughly unlike the pleasure by eternal playfulness was unnecessary of the play.
Ophelia was innocent by patience. Her correctness was this she requires to refresh the finite, this she takes the beginning from that, that was finite, this she does to a point,
quit the near loathing by her correctness. Patience was the insight unprepared for a god whose apathy to stay in the presence of anti-time; impatience was the truthfulness that relinquishes to succumb to that presence of anti-time via its metamorphosis out of the same inward nature of relational events, assumed out of many like silences. Also false impatience include patience; they are circumference in patience, they are patience temporarily not tolerated nor enjoyed. Ophelias’ patience was not hence an incorrect aversion:
they were the circumference from which became
her lowest impatience,
her finite trek from life.