A brilliant young strategist rises to the top of his class in Battle School while training to defend Earth against hostile aliens intent on exterminating a basic concrete patio. You dream. The vegetation here supplants heroism, we eat well for a while. Days pass, jumpiness extends to the horizon. Relay from satellite to say, Om, omphalos, belly button, purview. Could be ridiculous. We are innate, trying to work it out. Can we speak of other things or... Jumpiness is a principle. Topic sentence sits atop paragraph, and for a reason. Wish for less jumpiness, Cosmic Ones, because it crowds. Reminded that brilliant young strategists resume in jumpiness sometimes. Roy Rogers named his dog Bullet. He named his wife Patio. He named himself Roy, a sliver of doubt that the French call king.
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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