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Concomitant story.

December 12, 2016

Whilst reading Bertrand Russell,  stumbled across the word concomitant.

Stumbled,  I meant read it, in the context of one of his essays.

Always enjoying the discovery of cool sounding and looking words, put it context to understand it better and make use of it.

Like a miniature disfigured statue,  below the surface of petrified dinosaur dung, I carved out the following.

While imbibing, with the consistency of a morphine drip, concomitant was her ability to be Dr. Jackie and Mrs. Heidi of love and hate, that not only would it turn on a dime, it melded so closely as to be indistinguishable between laughing tears of joy and hiccoughing gasps of sorrow.

Supplanted in the psyche of the recipient like an upturned silverware drawer on the pavement, there were so many forks in the road, there was no way to turn and arrive at a coherent destination.

Certainly,  none that would take you far enough away, without the desperate need to go back and take another direction.


I’m sure there’s a novel on either side of those paragraphs, however need to get back to my observations .

From → dark, random

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