When All Is Said And Done, Do You Do More?

A taste is emphasized in the past, and cannibals are emphasized in the future. We begin to segment our social explorations, like construction workers with boots that cramp their ankles. All visible defenses keep bumming off the invisible offense of Reality itself, while commerce grows dynamic near a spillway. Two-thirds of any action is composed of a prior action, like those cotton plugs in the necks of aspirin bottles. Levitation is the Central Rose.

Blocks impair variables, and interviews depend on a static gaseous state. Population is the only funnel. What comes out one end gets condensed and televised, while the raw violet urges bubble and seethe with facts. A lone interloper leans on the protean delta, a phonograph needle clenched firmly between his teeth. The baby cannibal plays a fugue. He is amused and in a random prediction. The anvil of priority is complex and foreshadowed--indeed, a whole cone of velocity is parting his hair, a micro-tornado eclipsing a larger sample.

The moon sticks to precise points of time. We know this from high school on. On and off. A president's lawn translates incoherent being, while a flag pole translates nothing. A crow may land there, off and on,--an "example." Opinion is feathery even at the core.

And so we drove all night, then stopped in solid shapes. Nuns were mutating starlight into delicate baskets. A rodeo hairnet fluttered with apperception. So long to the cannibals! A semaphore of human nature had better drive a small car!