The Simplicity

Richard Wesley Clough

Description

THE SIMPLICITY
From the simplicity to the complexity back to the simplicity about adequately explains the
Weird rationale necessary to deal with the mysterious aspects of the black holes dynamics.
In this see saw manner which I first broached in some meanderings concerning the fat
People that was discarded but not forgotten, one can get an insightful glimpse into the
Origins of human beings in their most meaningful components that stretches into infinity
As the complexity relates. It isn’t I postulate as the Good Schooling says is so fallacious,
but, instead, simple reasoning that evolved from the at first too simple reasoning. This by
dint of meeting the exigencies of the light that basically had to decompress in order to
meet the lights demands on this soul who writes the ode. It’s this freshness that shows in
my three books in this new genre of slices of life interlinked to joyfully rise above what
is painfully contemplated and wrote in prediction of this simplistic remedy. A remedy
that like all things in science was wrought by some extraordinary means.

Sujets

• Histoire
• History

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 09 décembre 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669856320
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

THE SIMPLICITY
 
THE MARYLAND PRIZE
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
RICHARD WESLEY CLOUGH
 
COPYRIGHT © 2008 BY RICHARD WESLEY CLOUGH.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER:  2009908466
ISBN:  HARDCOVER  978-1-4415-6580-8
SOFTCOVER  978-1-4415-6579-2
EBOOK  978-1-6698-5632-0
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 12/06/2022
 
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
582408
 
As the Sun Rises  . . .
the Answers Come  . . .
for Yeste rday’s Crisis  . . .
 
CONTENTS
The Simplicity
For The Love
Richard’s Vortex
Poet
Dear Soul Woman
August
The Last Survivors #2
The Grand Buffoon
Freedom Lost and Freedom Gained
The People of Armageddon
The Last Self-made Man
To Cure the World
A Weather Story
The Death Of The Dark Stars
God Works in Mysterious Ways
Life’s Achievements
Unethereal And Accepted
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words
History Of Richard Clough
The Speed Of Light
The Maryland Prize
Sexuality
Technique
A History Of The Country
What Little Complexity
The Vampire’s Song
Meteorology
An Infinite Science
Professor Emeritus
The Natives Are Restless
Still the One
Skewered
The Unseen Face
Energy Changes
One Small Perspicuous Part
The Law Of Reason
The Girls
Frustration
A Changing Scale
My Disposition
The Present State Of Existence
Endings
Irresistible Impulse
Finis
Conclusion
POEMS
For Beast and Man
Pretoria’s Party
The Storm Veered Away
Carrie my baby
The Fleet Of Gallilee
PROSE
The Closer To Death
The Sporting Unknown
The Lonely Streets
Capeheart
Forewarned
In The Halls Of Darkness
My Longevity
Custers Last Stand
Where It Really Began
The Secret Code
The Presents Last Thoughts
The Good Schooling #2
Come To Papa
My Gun
The Last Days Of Never, Never Land
An Adjunct To The Last Days
Rock With You
Facts
Lines
Insight
November
Growing Up
The Black Hole Agent
Wrap
Mothers Boy
Kings Of The Night
Clouds
Land Of My Grandfather
Gold Finger
In The Beginning
THE SIMPLICITY
From the simplicity to the complexity back to the simplicity about adequately explains the weird rationale necessary to deal with the mysterious aspects of the black holes dynamics. In this see saw manner which I first broached in some meanderings concerning the fat people that was discarded but not forgotten, one can get an insightful glimpse into the origins of human beings in their most meaningful components that stretches into infinity as the complexity relates. It isn’t I postulate as the Good Schooling says is so fallacious, but, instead, simple reasoning that evolved from the at first too simple reasoning. This by dint of meeting the exigencies of the light that basically had to decompress in order to meet the lights demands on this soul who writes the ode. It’s this freshness that shows in my three books in this new genre of slices of life interlinked to joyfully rise above what is painfully contemplated and wrote in prediction of this simplistic remedy. A remedy that like all things in science was wrought by some extraordinary means.
FOR THE LOVE
I would always be with her in the end, no matter how much emotion, from ecstasy to pain, including turning ecstasy into pain if necessary in order to be with her, Laurie Boxer. She had black hair and eyes, while her physique was the kind that would be poisonous for the likes of me, a southern poet, if I were to achieve the pinnacle of elitism without in some way showing her my passion, a truth in the driving force of my literary life that would always make me a success or else unable to find out for once in my turbulent life the fulfillment of my possession of her. Sometimes I feel I lost her just to concoct some terrible revenge. At other times I’ve had her, and the lust wasn’t pleasing, but something that would make me reject her in the future until that terrible hunger again inflamed me. I really believe she had something to do with my end results regarding her. Take, for instance, the fact that she only wants me when I’m an idiot or when I’m being the most stupid; then she appears after a couple of decades of futility with the proverbial sword in hand, the Angel of Death’s only true love. At the time of this writing, I feel it is the latter, but things are still fermenting in this, my quest.
Novels are very tedious things, and the modern novel suffers from an overabundance of erotically inclined writers with the same egotistical propensity. For myself I have been on the rock pile of literary sweat for what seems aeons, since my talent, so great, has always inspired me. The result is a style that can be both condensed into a microcosm in comparison to the words written in leading up to it and a final book form of representation that is dwarfed by the likes of Michener, who wishes for just one good book to enlighten the famished readers who are too busy in the world’s spiral to know any better. The gist of this is that instead of a long-winded plot that leaves one gasping for the next episode or plethora of egomaniacal words, I shall simply reveal it for you and your enjoyment.
The story has already begun, and the thread or theme of the story revolves around the southern poet’s somehow finding that physical and emotional path to Laurie Boxer. There will be girls and dangerous experiences, even common things, but all with a psychological twist that somehow must be evenly balanced or else bad luck befall her, Laurie Boxer. Richard does not know the golden combination but constantly strives in the direction he senses from the other efforts in this, his personal hell, or Gehenna, or heaven.
RICHARD’S VORTEX
There is nothing funny about a young being’s entrance into the world called Earth. In some ways there are any number of things that can afflict an individual. Most are bad, but for Richard the bad existed in the embryonic form of misunderstanding. As long as he went along with the misunderstanding, it acted like a talisman leading to her whose radiance was especially prized by him. Of course the infidels, who were those without the great love of a woman, would ad their complexity to Richard with their astute observations, which ranged in ignorance from the best to the worst incisions of insight. These Richard would reject even if good because oftentimes good led to bad, and bad was some colossal weight that, once dispelled, sometimes became good. The only things about being bad, like juvenile delinquency, is that it usually never happened, because Richard was so acute in drawing the heat of hot romance, something hot enough to really hurt him, unlike the way he had previously avoided everything else. It was sort of like having a mountain of refuse fall down on him. The mountain has a gravity or physics behind it that sort of impels its development against all else; hence, nothing bad ever results unless there is some defect in the tapestry of this exceptional being. When the mountain is strongest, Richard even conveys it at some adolescent age to his own regret because it marks Richard’s entrance into the scalding world of intense regimen. Richard cannot deviate, and his total dedication is what causes the conflict. It, the conflict, can be mimicked in all its twists and turns as another offshoot of the mountain-style reflection of the rapidly coiling, twister-like spirit. Like a tidal wave it looms on the near horizon, and Richard sits there waiting for it to hit as it has hit everywhere else. Then the religious faithful ask, “Do you believe?” And all Richard sees is their hatred for the God they seem to love. To him they are the crucifiers of Christ, for only as they tussle with this seeming Antichrist do they freely admit the sins condensing through the effects of Richard’s vortex.
POET
I was sitting there on the cliffs of Santa Monica beholding the unfolding vista of the vast Pacific. From the distant shore I would hear the hollow drone of the ocean swell lapping up on the beach where I once had jogged. I could no longer jog there, as I was a wanted man. I could sense some power of society lurking somewhere all around me, and those halcyon days when I loved the spirit of the onrushing storm seemed to have tragically led me to this final spiritual impasse. Now the storm had a body enforced by law and people who I never knew before, even during all those days when I surfed the waves or eluded the traffic on my bike. Now I was their victim worse than if they had got me, which, if they had, might have saved me. Instead of being the simple soul, I was the hunted soul, possibly set aside for some special treatment that at first might appear to be Laurie Boxer but in all aspects seemed to be something else entirely. Richard, indeed, felt like some inner spirit was forewarning him of all things good and bad, but Laurie, like the poetic line, seemed lost to one who reaped the mother lode. Her everlasting spirit, though, wouldn’t leave Richard, as if she had left a part of herself in some memory that perpetually both tormented and goaded him