JenXdigital

my parents spoke languages of the great and grandest: they were left cryptic symbols I could not pronounce nor comprehend - I was merely a jester, a kid in a temple of adamant logic and holy symmetry; what I remember are delta-phi-sigmas inscribΣd Φn the ωΔlls, forming a score of astral melodies, a perfect pitch sound. Euclid stood by the altar, Pythagoras was the priest at funerals of fallacies buried deep underneath remnants of uncertain theories; they were plucking off pages enwrapping the ripe fruit of wisdom only to break humanity's savage, primordial teeth on its tough seed. I used to hear my father join the chantin