We’re going to do a sculptured version of underpinnings from the 19th century. To do this we will look at the critique embedded in the resourceful alignment from commonality and aging dimensions. The scope of what is seen in the alchemist’s world is the byproduct of angular and bi polar dimensions. Each half of a stigma is repetitive without its consent and then we have the “correct” notion of stigma at the base of relations. To a finality, a whimsical squaring off of redeeming assuredness complicates the order of fanatical thinking.
He won’t belong, for he belongs.
The majestic potion of loyalty emanating from the corpus mouth is instinctual as it’s order fades.
Here we have another lesson: Ricochet irony from his lesser mouth quakes. Now we define the he.
I was walking when I ascribed a guilt free modus to the paramount next step. Only were those who got it in glam. Destitute fiction as madness. Revolted anxiety. Purse to hand to mouth.
And one learns of denial by being strung up on a bed of flustered flowers.
Perhaps origin of anything is the flight of it, leaves one not afraid. But that’s the mule of the century. Why critique at all? Human ontology stretches further from the basics. Seminal advantages reach back into periods where acclimations had made aloof of avarice and paradox. Some others of mention might be pointless to receive but life is just like walking into a stranger’s library full of things.
Can remarks by politicians scare us into deepened introversion by subtle intoxication? Are lives really out on out? Lucid as humanity may be, I see no art in it. Just ingrained tutors that massage the hurt in more. They’re happy delightful folks, the you and I. With cars and cynicism.
My basis may not be to judge but if grief doesn’t end quick, I’m telling mom. In our happy moments, living life is like retraining a bicyclist how to ride curves for the anti marathon. Now, we may not be in the 19th century as a psycho present focus but for those literary terms, it was necessary for me to stretch out what could happen any era of this side paranormal. Sign a contract and remember “life is fast, life is laughs”. First, if you have to have to handle a suitcase, mount the handle between your teeth.
Then, the influx of commonality which is less so steep is courageous enough…its always been said that life throws us our less poetic moments back to us and makes us laugh at ourselves. Will we continue to let it throw from the bounds?
In tomorrow’s gestation of common sickness, in the hamper of aid crawls the living revolution. Let’s tolerate victimless mortality for a bit more. We can always walk somewhere else.