seems like musing doesn’t take away the hurt

We are always throwing gazes around the room in search of that deepened despair that shores the incantations of limited mortification we will never attach to.
It’s as if the experience to find the welt in the early rise isn’t throwing us the core image of that space; a pause to reflect if that is sex, commerce, fame…we nod off further into deprivation….

Just as our limited abuse of the total moment cuts us off from throwing things into our rapturous local belt, the excuse broadened by the cult of classic worries eschews discomforted murmur.
First it was in the political times, the suspicion of working too frantic to keep up with the hobby of neat procession; the saw cut intuition deep.
Most people of a certain collective inquiry relate to a market of intellectual catastrophe in a source that’s got an image most will vaguely see as heat-sensitive or guided by a spacious glow, embedded into the lasting impression of recoiled dreariness.

Now, we are all too fundamental in the working design….that of [the image of] luck and past-in-anxiety. The healer throws some light on the way offerings relate to the perspective-care.
The majority of objective institution-related operational models attend to a definition of depleted masking paralysis.
It’s especially true whenever alcoholics looked for punishment through masking self-illuminative caricatures in the whimsically soul-freeing agreement with that which couldn’t be a hobby aside from the pillow throwing of intellectual escapism.
Aside from the boredom (of creational excuses built into the fantasy of whirlwind defendants), the actual escapist has to realize that deepened want is only the core note of the social program embedded in the warming practice place for restrictive modernity. Restrictive modernity in itself is a hibernating social construct.

It is all too relative to think of the disinfectant program (of the social construct) when the comma has placed itself at the punch line. Beauty comes before mystery but slowly before history.
And the only resounding note of adema is a shore away.


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