trīgintā   sex

"Huh?"

He tried to process what he was seeing but he simply couldn't. He couldn't put up with it. He was trying as much as possible but his mental ken was not giving him what he did want.

He did want to swell the brain and squeeze rage outta it but he would test his patience. He would make his rage feel the patience he had been breeding.

There was obviously nothing that he could do. He was merely acting the scripts and of course he must be able to do it properly.

He must be able to carry out the orders in the most appropriate ways. He was more then becoming skeptical.

He wanted his instinct to tell him that he wasn't seeing what the sight was holding. He had no idea what thought was that.

He was hoping that the new thought and realization would be some extended odds which he could fiddle with. He didn't want to take any of them seriously.

He simply wanted to make his pain known. He simply wanted to fill the void which had been made and then fix all the odds.

He knew he would do it but was trying to figure out how. He would know soonest.

Time was sweeping the whole deal in a haste across the hall he was in. At opening the door, he had seen a hall.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do of course. He couldn't process the thoughts in a haste. He needed to await the rage of the oblongata.

The tempest of his sanity must also be tamed. He hadn't thought of those in the first place. He knew that he would need all of them.

He was only sieving his options. He was making his taste known. His rage was spilling foils on the tip and lips of his pain.

All he wanted to do was accommodate that taunting thought for the meantime. He knew what he would do. He knew what he was capable of doing.

He wouldn't make any thought severe what was more than real to him. He would make it known soonest. He was counting his options.

He wanted to figure out what stance he was supposed to hold. He would then have the guts to prank all the odds and rages.

He knew what the reward would be. He wouldn't be disappointed. He would be prepared.

The hall was well furnished. He wasn't so good with pointing out the beauty of a place. He could make known his rage and call out the odds strapped to the place or several other things.

But he did know what he wanted. He knew what he would and he did stick to it. That was the best thought he could ever nurse.

He sharpened his retinas to be ruthless. His eyes were quite invincible as they did strip the hall off its privacy.

He would try as much as possible to make meaning of all the things which were there. He did know how he would figure it out. He had been learning the art.

There were chairs in the heart of the hall. He could ask someone why all the houses and towers and castles under the waters did have halls each?

He was beginning to doubt the civilization of men. He didn't know why he was making himself believe that the civilization of men was inspired by the likes of Poseidon.

He shouldn't forget that he was in the fantasy. He had no idea why he was taking it so seriously. Everything did seem so real that he couldn't hold the mode. He wouldn't of course.

The chairs in the hall were arranged such that one high chair was all by itself at the end of all other assemblies of chairs.

There were two rows of the chairs. He couldn't count them. He wasn't that patient. Patience wasn't his thing.

And all he did need at that time wasn't patience. All he did need was the opposite - arriving at a sane conclusion.

He didn't know how remote that could be. He didn't want to be so worried. He knew that there was no way he would be able to steer clear of that.

He wasn't so sure. Time should make a mess of the deal.

Aside the chairs which had been arranged consciously, he plunged his eyes into the the convenience and beauty of the hall.

He couldn't make his eyes rage like he did want it to. But he could say that they were doing their own part best.

He wouldn't want to dictate to them what they were expected to do. That of course would be dimwitted of him.

He needed to find his bearing and make it suit the longitude he had been steering clear of. That of course should help.

There were several paintings on the wall. He couldn't catch the best sight of them from the door. He didn't know why he didn't want to enter.

He felt like he didn't need to do that at that moment. He would figure out later. The paintings were made consciously of course.

He could identify the expertise. He hadn't seen such art work ever. He could see several depictions of the sea in several colours.

Most paintings did seem to be living. He couldn't had thought it better than he was doing at that more.

To the right were several paintings of the gods and goddesses. He hadn't been the fan of all those. He was a poet of course but hadn't let his mental ken be inflected.

He had no idea if that was why what was happening to him was happening. Probably if he had had a god he was serving, such probably could had stopped Poseidon from taking him to the fantasy.

He didn't know how true that was. He was only making himself sound so sensitive. He saw gods trading rages and wills.

Twas quite obvious that many of the gods did more fighting than identifying with odds.

He did see one with the face of an elephant pushing up the butts of another veiled god in red robe.

He was trying as much as possible to make meaning of it but he simply couldn't figure out. He couldn't identify with the meaning.

He didn't want to stress it of course. He matter-of-factly wouldn't be paid for it if he did get accurate message strapped to it.

He would only be able to fiddle with the tip of the hay. He decided to make meaning of the other several paintings. One did have a being with wings.

The wings were stretched in different mode. He was far from the paintings but tried to brace his outer sight with the inner strength.

That was the best he could do. He wasn't disappointed when he did try it out. He could see clearly of course.

He could find making judgement as a cake walk at that moment. He could make use of that sense also whenever in was held in the claws of indecision.

He concentrated on that painting again. The right wing was fresh like a salient spring while the other one was withered.

He had no idea what that did meab and he did notice that the being was drenched in grease that his white was more than foiled.

There was a lamp above his head and a sword and a cross bow by his legs. He didn't know what meaning he was supposed to make of it.

He couldn't be really sure. He hoped that he would be able to figure. He started sieving his options again. He was a poet.

He needed time to identify with several odds. He was supposed to be able to make meaning of almost everything.

He did know that and must foil that stance. But the truth of it was, he couldn't do that.

He hoped that he would be able to. He quit making himself feel odd.

He was done looking at the painting at the first part. He wanted the next part of the hall. Not that he would be called to account for the whole deal of the paintings.

He always did feel the need to have things balanced. That was all that he did need. He would make them feel it.

He would help them identify with it. He was making his rage known. He didn't need that. He needed only to figure out all that was happening there.

He would of course but time wasn't giving him what he did want. He wasn't getting the best out of time. It hadn't turned out the way he had expected it.

He was simply hoping that the things would take a new turn.

The paintings on the next wall were motioned. He hadn't seen that ever. The paintings which had been done perhaps few years back were motioned?

The elements and creations in the paintings were moving! How possible? He saw a bird flying gradually towards an arrow which was aimed at it.

He didn't know why all the messages put across in the paintings were just evil.

His thoughts were thwarted. He was finding it quite difficultly to choose a thought.

Then he heard rumbles which was complemented by a voice.