Have we no will, no interest to shed our platform ambiguity?

Rainy Sundays or any day we break for the shadow olympics observed or imagined on the ceiling: Rationed atheism has long been the main event. Sectarians find a balance of situation (organ music), steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing like totals in multiplicities (music for copulation). Late afternoon to others.

Factor in a plug-in for artisanal calisthenics.

Body resonance turns into a prism on top of which you can finger-point to the horizon, magnified and askew. So note what happens.
Better yet, get a friend or two to write for you, pretending they are you, falling mute, covering your lips with my gloved thumb.