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.
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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