Tell me everything, Babylon. I was up early tho I later napped. I know Hamurabi sliced a grape in coded enterprise enterprise, and here’s the thing, or should I even say. Amorite King Sumuabum stood almost tall but we have billionaires in our fair clouds and feral clog for the benefit of wastelands. That’s not my courage talking, but a vision of some outcast words and potable drama until feet match the path. History is a curious cruller that can be received in sunlight. Cruller as a unit springs funnier than donut, even knowing how to spell. The rivers leak up the plain but it’s not so important now, desert began as forethought. Afterthought may just round the bend but the feature cannot be immaculate. As the silt builds you wonder what, finally. But what followed by a curlicue just makes you mad. Scored rock speaks softly below the engine noise but anyway. Carrying the trauma does wonders for the waistline. The enemy remains as a how-to-respond exaction, timed to the tremors of century. A goodly punch will follow meetly. The cartel only bought itself.
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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