63: Hours..drain..blood. And something came up.

As I am now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for a frontier in vanishing unboundedness: Youthful organized treasures in a small package, tethered particle immolation. For such a time I fortify my lover’s life. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory. Never cut. With little or no motive, the sky foregrounds their process styles, stealing them all always.