Notice flax seed. It is terrible. It resolves into numbers and you are helpless. It grows in imagination, which lacks forgiveness. It seems so friendly, yet your roots run lack of plant. Your human bones feel like endlessness. You cannot forgive a seed, a tiny eternity, a spot of growing time in your weak eye. You cannot milk flax. It is thunder beyond sound, lightning beyond sight, anything beyond you. You are time's implicit reaction to no time. You will have to wait till no time wins, long after flax.
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
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