There’s a town with a brain, now. No people live there. No purple sweating public branch of the affiliated stand on their toes to block more sun. No bandaged thought processes calling for more less more react with temper at the newspaper on the floor. It’s the traction of reaching out for fit pockets filled with urgent chewing that survives the debate. Every food is for the time. As they say in the voting vault, you pay what you get for. The town is a gravid pit for understanding how the gravid pit fills with gravid pits. In time, the folks will swear, a light of reasoning will spurt freshets cooling the hot brow of angry time. The human will then spot human with a verve and trust, till dinner time politely.
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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