We see the eye as an organ with general fluxing agency. It paints a world of painted worlds. In the bold compendium of thought, Emerson had an Eye in mind, transparent but ready for vast or small. It resides in the mind’s sigh, let us say. This eye sees or seizes, and it calls you to pace. An eye can only, and often does. Look how the rain blithely spatters the ground except that it is snow and the ground a common bison. Shakespeare called the eye ‘vile jelly’, abetting the groan of sadness in drama and changing. The eye proves possible tho cultish in application. Anyone can have tears, seen in the moment. To what witness do you listen? It could be time to forgive. Soften your grip, meaning now. Trees swayed in the wind today, but tomorrow may be dark. That field, that place, that time. You surely see what I mean.
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.
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