I like gay art. I know nothing about it.

Bursting out of your head while you hike thru grasses: All this acreage owned by prosaic dabblers, a-theoretical factual folk. Broken, misunderstood.
It’s different evening on and children on fire hit back.

Teamwork. Again, our people are what make us great.

And if that’s everything for now, we’ll switch to loving and losing and loving. Fresh air still excessive — a geyser in a box-set of boxes in bigger sets you don't see?
Very classy but nothing so great and natural as theater, sleight of hand,
good posture and strategic intellectual constructs.