When you look plankton in the eye, you see myriad and throng. You likely haven't looked at plankton much, as small as forgotten, but in the eager example, open up to. Drifting constitutes definitive plankton behaviour. If you knew Greek you would know this. Oceanic plankton can be plant or animal. If you can't fight the tide, you are plankton. It must feel familiar. What do the people of plankton have to say? Demos as a cause for identity. Floating amidst the flowing in a generalized way. Plankton towns are random gathered. Their association resides in cryptic freehold. The union bosses remain in the constraint of the current, über alles. Politics exists in stray algorithms and made up stuff, mainstays of civilized life. All politics is loco. When motility occurs in maturity, say, planktonhood ceases and you must discover direction. For a start, head for the light.
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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