A reward in simple testament secures a veiny process. Streets fill with the essence of people. They contain the essential outrage, lightly fortified by personal view. Did they know that Hitler survives in history books? Common knowledge, like the birth of kites in paper and string heaven. Some mansion that could be! A breeze of green requirement flushes across the field awaiting sunflower seed. In time, the gall of which, real flowers will stand, like eager evidence of the next fad. Trial and error makes the new warder. Error snips alternate routes. You are my President, Mister or Ms Whosis.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Furthermore, this Mr. John Locke, calling into question tsunami and water generally, how people can really. We have adapted to a television, at least. A syntax of possible impulse and possible impulse in reply. Identify a period of soothing, faked up with rhetorical questions. Then the long green seizing, not particular. Only this Mr. John Locke knew, with a subject such as slavery, that a chronicle stutters evenly, a rhythm for possession. Mr. John Locke could capitalize any word he wished. Such was the Age. Now we bend, just like tectonic plates. Now we go toward seashores with nervous eying. Now we read the first sentence of a paragraph, and allude to the rest. We hold demi-tasse to be self-evident, as in paraprosdokian. We steep tea in pots as a gesture toward completion. Mr. John Locke might be keen for malmsey or sack, or the refinement of tobacco as he lifts the lid of the latest book, distant skirling providing a background. Within the chambers of the book a space of average, excepting the spectacular word. Now we march ahead, like sugar into molasses.
John Locke, himself, was an intricate plot schemed up by name on request. Motivated slush booms notions of government and people are crying. Crying because the earth cracks and we can only stand. Crying on top of crying because thinking is a presence. Crying on Wednesday, which always always follows Tuesday. John Locke was a delible upbeat, you were waiting. We send people elsewhere then look again, there was something. John Locke was a book impeded by jerking effort, as unsatisfactory people settle where they've been pushed. Excellence is exhausting, not contagious. This has been the preface of the World.