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¬ p l o t 51
n -> (fragments) The full complexity
of a myth is a MOTIONless phrase. disembodied characters, zeros and ones,
transitory natures, shapeshifting dancers, m - t - v the beat, the murmur
of a rumor which we forget, swallowed alive or lost. We lived transparent
months. After being alone I find you in different ways. Now I'm walking
at the same pace. 6 months, I said. But then I started a thousand words
and deleted hundreds.
(IssuE) The shaded world effectively defends its streets one Sunday morning.
There is the town's assisting tourist, passing the boundary between herself
and the rest of the world. Afterwards, despite this photo (-a form shot,
whatever-), landscapes on a Sunday - through the lens.: two strangers
meet in a disturbing scene.
(source) Sectors of the world like kingdoms on the map and fractures distort
a successful description. Sitting lazy to adjust, I accumulate a contained
Image, went, became an adventure, the town, the very cool, I thought.
And I feel the return of another <image>, give up and watch, then
go off with razor blades throught a sickening suburban wound. Friends
asked me why but first impressions first, they would be in something invisible;
minutes become weeks again. There had been outbreaks of historical reconstruction,
inevitably memory would reveal the real nature of simulation. I took a
mask, institutional and willfully blind to make up for the gaps in between
the start of today and a series of events including natural fierceness.
In either case: lists, and the past three changes in the concept of totally
similar answers. we . move . are . mobile . connect . anything . now .
anytime . anywhere . lost . time . we . move . wont . stop . maybe . another
. time .
(ImagE) and there are burnt out dog-ends along the wall. this time it
sounds like that creeping feeling towards a final solution. Like appendages
I searched for another toxin, another trick to wonder about, modern materials
in agreement, really give it and turned away. and we were doing nothing
to get used to pain, some organs non functional. I got even more confused.
wrong you have just wanted to; do. Uh. I would rent a riot: Past that
drain. trying to replace the past.
(evidence) s/he is easy to sift through. if you talk about it, I wrap
you, will be the next. it seems like our doors are an escape from our
bodies: I was somewhat reluctant at the end while she got the first flame.
to argue about personalities themselves is a bad philosophy; Find him
walking in the background, had typed evidence in completely different
versions.
(ImagE) a photographer was sitting there was in to be captured by hand
from behind. stream identity, communication conventions quite willing
to the time and we are supposed to line up additional options to do with
a modest expectation; finally realized I was free. I want to know; sitting
I don't dare moving: October when you can't perceive, told a few things,
and walked through the mist around me! I wandered around in cities; the
gutters between the people or a wall, are a voice explained repeatedly
for all to see, and for someone to tell me: they could have it: through
all I have been living in: the lights and everything that I learned of
bookcases shuffling up before I decide what we really say isnt just talking,
then drowned in them. To give away was actually live philosophy, and it
had him in a tubed mask. it also seems like some friends were in a whimper,
instead I'm getting at what is was like with his face down, clutched for
a month but I wanted to exist there. Simplicity, the root sign, and I
said you were battered and I am, opened the door with my knee. Pause;
exterminate all that she says then everything else will change into .
the sound of trees and the minimal light and I said ..u are u may be here
until they lock you in some other form of Land. I tried to imagine it
after a sleepy moment shows the old poisoning. nowhere else I kept thinking
I wanted to follow until I physically shrink. in the long time my ability
to listen seemed gone.
(conclusion) inwards or inverted texture. and it doesn't occur to him:
this string of words is like passing a set of points and positions. two
strangers meet. After stopping in a suburb, we find an area, places where
flowers grow. now. forget what day it is fact. they have arrived stoned
bored quietly said"fuck you" our lection is due. free,and I
crashed: the early morning in a thick mist and u are alone. Acceptable:
a day, the same as their huge grins into a tomorrow. Then finds a collective
skill: bursts activities as evidence: instincts of suspicion too many
walking tatoos all dressed in the standard speak in good faith.
(ImagE) alone we can see the mirror. noxious contents for mouth and nose,
breathing food, hardly looking up from looks from all and everyone in
a mask, slowly expanding knowing when the sickly orange street screeches
off to an even younger supportive of history . We are here, and we are
merely a glimmer. s/he'd fall over if s/he was to listen, s/he's screaming
going to swift out of the way arrive with a refused dialogue rubble of
broken temporary solvent. We reach the plexiglass road: a perfect stop
and a path towards figuring out what had happened. See the signs: I try
to make our controled routine-feeling particular. invisible arms I am
a glass human six men with 51 hands. I am shouting my final emptiness.
(convenient) I remember your feel; matted like some scorched rubble. said
that we sat on a loop. One point on the wall was a Toxic Lookin Moving
Image. asked someone so we spoke. began with anything. Toxic looking because
a new and random, incomplete scene already has everything that would name
your feel; and I just discovered what sparks probabilities and I'm telling
you; know where you are and time has everything.
(void) we talk about thinking in terms of scale, sat still for months
of which the most felt like millions of years long. just several small
black lichens have grown and little yellow spots wander across. I have
to struggle through the streets barren of life. Had the time for crashing
which looks like essentially bare land. We have not enough time left to
'feel' ourselves into another example: She cuts a hole with her teeth,
emerges, makes her appearance. Blue light is left behind when I slowly
disappear for a moment and I say: we can watch and stand upright and sat
down. I could easily make up further evidence later: the babies' look
comes with braying sounds. many flowers here, i say. I come to the sides
of the the city and hear the sounds that come from my empty glass. I no
longer see the gesturing slow cameras, the tape is about to run out, no
one can touch me. She makes movements with her lips and I feel like a
glass human. Inside what used to be the protective wall old people move
in slow motion and a second light allows us just about to make out another
person staring. I tried to understand his blue-ink tattoos as they grew
like a sinister thought. She reaches out and pulls me inside her gaze
and his body has no understanding how someone else is feeling. So my fingers
need to think in terms of less than a couple of years. The bodies are
silent: years, back in order to doze off. Sleep becomes a message. Sometimes,
I walk back towards the bypass, patiently my eye is deflected back into
someone's home. it was the first time she's seen a world beyond there.
seeing it live, in a flimsy neutrality. Once more there is no horizon:
I'm feeling like this: We leave the drizzle nights: streets far too far
around and simply invisible, just looking for flowers, I say. pretend
that I am familiar or that I have a history attached to characters, zeros
and ones, no longer coded but deciphered carbon copy. And they r in~potent,
fought their way into reality, although there's echoes around, a mock-reflection
in his back. three hours of the seven for fun. streets which defy the
daylight try to protect not guide, but I'm at the end of the walk home,
it will happen tommorow, will proceed. A load of plastic fools have obtained
some of my childhood. the moist scent of that exists out there. (afterimage)incorrectly
close and less dense than usual, until expectations break before our eyes
when they finally emerge from an endless passage. The colour laden with
the duration of a wiped off street at night, or a beginning of a sleepless
night as the streets shimmer in the rain. instead i think it offers us
a diluted landscape: Cant...Wont.....Show...Elsewhere...Maybe...Another
...Time... a land one can never get tired of. narration without beauty,
laden moment with a hint, the individual torn from a shadow or from the
crowd. With its own trace of anger or amusement and opaque reality. shaky
handwriting showed signs of hesitation. the tape has run out and s/he
could touch me.
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