our time is on the clock room cast in dramatic shadow like pieces of renaissance oil and canvas we wattled ideas from unread books; through gluttonous rage— we burned the dustjacket of history and knowledge to examine the brittle research of the Orwellian dilettante . presupposed, of course, being within Overton's Window and once necessary …
doldrums (n.)
a strained melisma teetering within the mind the overture of a waking dream that arouses nothing. it's rhythmic, faint less than static a tumbleweed which strikes cliches and old whispers into numbing thought twf.
The-Bleu-Bivouac 