I sent an idea out to see where it would go. Not anything particular in mind. A simple whispered word upon the wind. Life’s an echo chamber and I wanted to find my location. I listened vaguely for the direction of it’s first return. I squared myself to the orient, focusing on the next rendition. Two points with me makes three. Triangulated to the zone beyond. Perpendicular to the perimeter. The third, fourth and fifth returns gave me field of view. A corresponding vision of platted cardinal points. Telling me occasionally where my idea had turned to something new. Bouncing off the broken surfaces of objects in my surroundings. Returned somewhat garbled. Mixxed and blended all the thoughts turned into a grey goo. Opaque and yet translucent as if lighted from within. The fog of dueling ideologues a casualty it’s true. As long as thought vibrations have had their way with space. Entering into all locations. Impossible to stop. Swine define the pearls in the Porcine Latin squeal.