Geese got that celebrity bona fides. Geese got throng and Stance. You know that they got culture crammed. Report to celebrity geese in your face, they got you crammed. The what's up place got geese and they say so. My town invites geese to stopping baring teeth but my town too close to mud. Your town the geese until geese, next gen fuck you. You angry up because the platitude is geese. Geese monumental green splay of poop. One looks easy, all looks easy, like you as stepping back from geese jurisdiction. What law and order near hell can stem the interdiction of just spreading out. Human history in patches of fertile earth. What's up elongated. Geese friends the sky, so that social. Turn of all within.
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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