The rigid insane mean something. Dumps sweep cantons. Language has no possible sky in the mean mental man of woman, woman of man.
A sentence prolongs the state. We are eerie. Remember the back of the room? The course extends thru tidal indifference. Deep space—we talk about it—is a question.
Language is the closest to almost anything. Remember how a leg feels. The dead seem superfluous, but that cannot hold space. Space needs plenty. My aide-de-camp did fall.