Glimpses by Ophelia

Glimpses by Ophelia

(Antonymic translation)

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

to

push

it

 

downwards,

 

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

beginning.

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 indifference,

her lowest impatience,

 

her finite trek from life.

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About batai52

Brother, father, photographer, filmmaker, writer, artist, veteran, Iroquois/Scottish, aquarian and lover of Martinis "so dry you have to blow the dust off." There are many I admire: Maya Angelou, Ezra Pound, Morris Dees, Cornel West and Alan Alda (Hawkeye Pierce M*SH) for his art and activism. A true activist. Me? Heading towards being a feminist and I am working on my own human condition. Onward Together!
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