Friday, July 8, 2016

Post to Facebook

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.

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