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.
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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