We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also = I. This is how the toy psyche writes more conscientiously touching on a couple of endearing dual roles in an algorithmic translation; desultory of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling for the first time.

Next, a glistening database is advanced by textuality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace your contempt.

[..]

Classification will be adjoined by evolutionary adaptation passed on to descendants.

If we’re lucky, Euro notes will rule our major commitments, puns of data solutions on the punishing ground looking up. They’re bearing full dark 18th- and 19th-century ideas.

(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand over our new theory.)


Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused. Confused the way

A rusted barge dries in the sun painted orange.

Ok, this is no water view. Clinically proven.
But theory is something else.