Simple Theories

happy guid e  the liquid World the info Smells of ha y. Liquid swells the victual s world Capture whirl on Continen t. worldwide M. edia mention media world, round Possibl96 E  w.hirl.

   You can return to the earth, return to the sky. Your words can be plied ice that you think you understand. You can stand for some shit. Language gives you place, and words mock you by position. Purity accepts your  laundry and laughs. This dell is painted.

The president’s table spoke wisely. Before he could know he was human. The sorting of people. People like efficient machines and consumptions. The table leaks matchlessness. Because words react to thing that anyone becomes when people. The president’s chair runs to length, because ass awaits a firm stasis, figuring the race to win is now here. Words think of President as an almost human response, but President must rely on lower style, where everything continues as otherwise. “You will say I will rice in the great giddy yup morning,” murmured a President, and the president figures on something. No children or good towns were repeated in the process. The table stood for table.

Ordinal simplicity begets nominal case. Place and name contain maps but no peace. Pirated returns to pirate with humanity as private stock. See the words. Mere children in the status light remain as founts for imaging. The words have agreed. No poem can stay in the town as the dialogue festers. Light would burn as wood would light. Meet the new urn, the new Grecian, the new still literal day momentum, with a verb for everyone.