The issue is the question becomes

There is no ending to the title sentence except this sentence. This post is not about the issue or the question or becoming of things. The original intenture of the language application that follows (for what do we do but apply language?) was to convey a thought of the fleeting kind that I wished to record before it learned there was a large an interesting world out there and flew away. Now, if we were to deviate from that in a hopeless attempt to... Ah, sorry why would all of this matter to you? Instead of telling you what teh post is not about or the complications regarding it, but instead get to the content of the original post itself.

What follows is an account of sorts. I say of sorts because it is not the type of account you might be used to. This account is of a young man. What is extraordinary about this young man's account? Well the fact that instead of typing I am analyzing every sentence, consciously or subconsciously for possible interpretations that could lead to some sort of idea about me as a person. The fact that I told you exactly that I'm doing that tells quite a bit itself in a step the other way. I told my self I wasn't going to the fuck care at all below. However it's not something easily stopped or remedied. But once again I digress. Back to the man's account.

Well this young man woke up one morning on a typical day in the place where he typically woke up. Nothing was out of the ordinary is what I am trying to stress. But what exactly ordinary is is probably defined differently wherever you are. I wonder if it's sort of the simple statistical average or linear regression or something. The norm so to speak. It is becomming hard to type, I must take my leave for now. 'Till we meet again. (Now I search for kickass song lyrics... or just copy what I hear right now)

Grass will never grow near this town again