Trek an anonymous testimony and shout.
Float electricity. Aim at incandescent change.
Necessity spout. Bandaged
snow.
Recognition and disavowal
are thus inseparable from one another and basically mean the same thing: a look
at the "structure" of the unique. Analyzing the illusion that some
subjects are bouncing through their perceptions and have the impression of
living somehow twice is pure paleontology.
Do the fleece in the net
basement. Knowledge is a wire of diamonds.
Once in the mode of the present
and once in the mode of memory, Bergson does not fail to find the theme of
destiny: "What is said and done, what one says and what one does oneself,
seems inevitable.” This is similar to the tamarind of craft.
Wallowing planets stir
the universe.
At any moment, we will
have to deal with that, and with nothing else: that the circumstance is gay or
sad, whether it triumphs or dies, it is in any case cornered by beauty.
Flex the shaking wind.
Purpose shoves the snow into meandering streams of butter. Swim through the
steam. Drop an organic thought on the piano keys. Collect paraphernalia. Echo
dollars of eyeball tumble.
The metaphysical
dialectic is fundamentally a dialectic of the here and the elsewhere, of a
place of which we doubt the geography or taste the bittersweet overtones of
chaos until something like a hill or a canyon makes us wonder at the vitality
of it all, at the oleander and rhubarb.
One recuses oneself from pumice
and brings a fire from elsewhere whose salvation is discounted. This immediacy
is given at first: but would not it be rather second? Would it not rather be an
orchestra? Or a mushroom?
Smoke the flake disaster.
Leaning muscles shine
during the robbery. Build a choke and pull. Glaze the pungent skidoodle.
Rumble on a tour of
plants. Pepper the area with pulse and cries of personal liberation.
Swallow the day. Sip the
night. Hack at reality with a large recognition.
Wear a goldfish coat. Box
the spoons until they fork into knives. Perception makes the artists want to
draw the delicacies of the forest. Most feelings are elemental, but some are
more like fights.
Gallant pin cough.
Subtlety pitch. Empty expansive mirth.
Hit think. The cardboard messenger
stands among his own gender groaning like an idea.
The medium is the baby.
Squeeze the elbow until a visible detonation tingles with subtleties of
afternoon. The conspicuous flourishing of a stray light. The implications of
prayer.
A slice of lamp black
harmonics.
An unrivalled prodigality
propelled by the power to ponder a speed bump.
The crowd grows restless.
Daylight bumps into a
conspicuous species. They’re called libraries.
No comments:
Post a Comment