Tobacco, that native wonder, became a post-processual deity in the gung-ho modernist revelation instilling precise value to the shadow governed by the economic grove. Enjoined thus, the plant and its mucky muck stooges became billed acreage statistic and a fine Rubicon to feature. Think of farmland making eventual smoke by a process of sublimated craving. In this immediacy, rituals become addictions: were once / now this. Tobacco's broad lush leaf inspired institutionalized number crunch and schemes of characteristic creosote to bargain with. You too can be a target for industry's sensuous bite. Sweet wholesome fragrance secularizes the garden plant's holy mission, and the plant bears the blame. Nothing should surprise you. You understand the stock report and the while for which all this is worth. Those numbers don't lie, but you can learn to adjust.
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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