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.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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