Thursday, September 6, 2018

Corona Hum


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. 

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