Un-i-verse-ityMature

It's an experience.

Like all good epics we begin in medias res,
Genre undefined, not yet.
We're a problematic poem.
The meter is relentless and eclectic,
Finish off that line! Our iambs, trochees and dactyls become more S-
Pondaaaic. That is to say we s s-
lurr  when we Finis-
shh h h  h  h that drink!
Dramatic dilemma,
I feel a premature catharsis coming on.
It's a pastoral longing for the idyllic "I
WANT TO GO
HOME!"
Grammar neglected.
We've discovered our fatal
flaw. Hamartia leads to anagnorisis,
But not til morning.
Separate
the new characters
from the old and
Faithful.
This isn't a denouement.
Too soon.
We're just establishing rhythmic consistency.
We're just seeing the brighter imagery.
We're just finding the right words.
We're just invoking our muse.
We're just writing our first verse.
Tonal analysis:
Fresh.

We've not even started the first canto.
This is just a prologue. 

The End

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