The deities have expanded abruptness. We have the documentation, reports, and mythology ready to go. We approve of the shiny folk dressed in togas and light that stand for something that we expect to stand. Their vigor shows radiance and born designer sense. They make us think of greatness as a plum. The cold purple plum skin embraces a sweet fortitude and small rock. Why not dream of that. The deities enjoy their elevation. We can feel the light of their impact, wicked and hazy. When the beginning finished and the middle extends for millennia of hopeful approval, we can isolate certain fractures as tests. Perhaps our pleas will resolve into puff pastry of resonant escapade. Heavenly singers will voice native rapture as the swizzle stick circles the glass. Buoyancy flickers like charm, hazy beers are the rage. The deities have backed into something without hardly knowing.
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.
Comments