Skunks resemble tractors because they brim with fullness and cheer. They know how to fill the night. Night seems broad and intractable but skunks ramble with the zest of bitumen. Skunks know: night makes protocol taste good like all fevers do. Night's just the other part of town, no more lonely than the sun beat streets. Skunks can cope. As Darwin will tell you, skunks have weaponized anal glands. They make the best of what they have. In the light of day, tho, do we know the final score? Do we even know what teams are playing? Can today's skunks still remain relevant? Look how shadow governments fixate on flourishing, trust in the bankable. Those silver linings argue for more outcasting on the basis of born again financial reports and offshore benefaction. Just don't step on skunk and its real time report. Stay kind with every inkling as you wander in the dark. Like skunk, you have a light somehow.
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.
Comments