In the past, a future existed. Its terms firmed around old things. New things brought taste. Taste steers ships. Ships even out, making news when they are terrific. These status reports prepare us for intervals of success. Death makes a nice boundary, after which bookstand information blends into a bison that influences the past. Finally a bison on a hillside, or the rumble of many. This advantage of need, it curves the world to self-satisfied distinction.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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