The rattle of canticles woke Captain Element from the extremes of river view. A posse of water, gallant fields, a cricket wakeful to manners: all this spread vistas like a trust. Captain Element, superb in the bloom of dawn, spoke highly of the event, translated through the spaces of time into a doorway beyond which winter fails to include. I agree with my dizziness, said Captain Element to the tune of reading aloud. The Reader, not the Writer, comes forward to shake the monstrance in one quick indication. Reader realizes that wild winds are privy to our warmth, winter damages are fretful through the orchard, and spring is a distance away. I travel to the light side of war, remarked Captain Element, having seen that a President can speak a lot. The country is downsized, read the reports. Canticles register in the space left after input. Readership must waken, is the logical deduction. And good old narrative will find a way through, right through news of the next layer of war.
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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