The mechanical instance of wind, freighted for daily experience. Simply temperature gradients charging the atmosphere with utter balancing and crisscross virtue. Leaves sail, snow drifts, clouds portend. The gods, when not imaginary, seem imaginary because carrying portents. The wind has made tears, some your own, some for others. Do you remember those who died on other days, lost in the wind? They may still remember bracing flags describing specific wind as illustrative loss fit for sailing away. Away in time while space remains. You remember those that blew away, and space is never same. Your next string of gods, however, will be your best.
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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