Listen to the lyric dent in dreams. The program asshole wants to include half of your opinion in an important truckstop. Here’s where we will meet the inventor of Cocoa Puffs, whose status as someone who gave us something we never thought to want makes light shine thru the states of heads. And while we relax with racist fucks, dogma tells us a story. The semitic something walked into a sand bar something, and the tides something came over the edge of the earth to prove something. And further, there was something, once, and then it was different. Different is a rush god, and we listen by turning deaf. Out of the heavens of finely wrought brocade comes an envy of complete asshole. The complete asshole is god in a truck, god filled with hors d’oeuvres, god faking topic sentences. We who link surprise with intelligence write tropical notes in our gathering papers.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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