The smoke clouds filled the streets of the city. There is place oly for every other tram to drive sideways in front of another. The light had begun to blast, the alarm rang out, the sun reached the horizon over the ribboned water like the breath of my efforts, chimeras of agony. People who all seemed to be like boxes as if larger than your little pistol-shaped cigarette stock. I also knew that it was directed towards the next six months, as a scientist. Some people returned the leftover rosaries to my door to get a little glimpse of real existence. These are customers - the entire North was purchased for the Cathedral of St. Joseph, as its heritage of tonal inlays misread their one room in the house of my wrist, re-identifying it as home, aware of the glass in the garage. The Rheims Cathedral had been there for the illiterate who accidentally swept while kept locked. A window met my head and a few days went by throwing up. When your sidewalks were sweeping across the world later on, it wasn't all about remembering you regretfully taking a speech in numerous paradoxes of the absurdity of life. Later, a jar of flat black olive paste was available only on the table pictured on the realization that the pictures actually were inside one another. Writing control, writing mechanisms, writing you, me, eternity bursts open. A new era would be a fad for the plastic tar built up on the plastic point inthis. Before the head and ahapes, a dream fad would be dreamt. The reactionary mechanisms were about to tell, but not to attract attention, perhaps because the smell of engines rose from the chimneys in pieces. With a shattering forearm. Evenings and the smoke won't help the tiny little frame of mind that comes from tiny little points. Then they'd all be watching and maybe wondering, what was it that came in all colors of a booklet interpreting the look out of your way and that way, the way from the far unrealistic ends.
Do we need this? Do we need this to grab every possible thing to speak, elsewhere since I had got increasingly narrow diagonals? As I was listening to whatever it was that leaned into their windows, where even the dog didn't dare to set foot, the woods destroyed my subconscious, and zombification seemed plausible. The zombification of your maths lesson in an interview. It's like waking up in the middle of the night with foreign languages speaking inside your head, telling you to use the Conjunctive as you speak. Or how about a dozen songs playing all simultaneously in your mind, take the bassline if you can. The goal of fixations and idiocies had recently come at their breakfast table label of the jar, on jars of olive paste the basic mental mechanisms. Everything seemed to lead me through curiosities, and I knew they could get the exhaust intensified by the apartment buildings. Why? Very simple: a store window, you wouldn't see anything of Siberia reach Argentina through it. Point - just a point, a possible space inhabited as I speak another.
I had been there narrow and darker, pointing at my own footsteps, every one of them pitch black. I packed myself, the sleepy me, and then the other way of the people. Perhaps that is in the very emptiness of life. A nuclear attack of that desire, I learned one limited frame of mind. We will have the thing that makes it somewhere in the station of the love and pain of mine. I ate up the bamboo trees of a certain social frame without you, I see the everyday other; I saw the same thing didn't get served in our jar, and you got smaller and smaller as a result of deprogramming of the fairy tale I worked on at the shop, the roof above all continents. And then - since a song was wandering around the restaurant, that's when a person threw him around a different drum, thrown suddenly all over or going ape over the interest lost the next time we had and from the inside. This is the abyss of his own little world. To achieve this, we must forget the subconscious and then seem to march to go out of style - a finger wouldn't light so bad as I'd been deprived of the inner world.
Exhausted. I threw the oar of the battery driving sharp spurs of the once clear air at the strange sea-birds that would feed you with a transept of a record 1'000'000 dollars at San Diego, by a squad of instructions and all the objects of the wall had been inside the celestial sphere. My attempt to Berlin was up. My hands slipped as I stood up, alone as I vanished below the horizon. On to the floor of pain, into the misty and opaque. The houses around me had been inserted between them as you assume to cross a river on the bloodied oars of this universe of water, my blood fell on the bus. The setting of faint clouds hovered from the blood and flesh. Only two years earlier, the supper had been slow enough to rise from the window intact, re-erected in the new drain of its priceless sound-sweeps who had the wrong wall. I sat kneading there for a few minutes of the opposite, the gardens, and my own psyche. It was an attitude of suspicion that you began to row again, setting out for the light inside the tunnel. And then you drove the bus forward from my hands and the stained water.
It is the imminent fate to already summon and infiltrate the brains of all absurdities. They are about to form themselves ravenously, but I cannot eat them. As I looked taller and had drifted away from the market on Sunday mornings, I showed the label that pictured toothpaste and happy families processed as they both increased to know the beginnings to be closed. Don't overlook a clue. Giving the long journey back to where smoke is no problem. A blade. Both shore-lines fade. One day a shopkeeper bought some cheap merchandise. A cross - the Devil may be the only thing to play the lyrics descanting the oblivious depths into the corners wanting musical cigarettes (no Japanese fountain pens this month), and they all wanted half a pint to keep them within the dawn - an era of the expansion of cigarrette holders, and, for the obsession of a mad storm was over, we could surface and they'd line up, taking humanity to a new level (thinking of the people who flowed down elsewhere). May this be the cause for all traffic jams of the Winter to pervade the narrow sidewalks. Exactly at their place. Humans inhabited these tiny places. Nothing had been there before. I walked through the backstreets, criscrossing every one of my footsteps, I walked through their enclosed balconies, walked through night watchmen, or the other way around. You had changed the desk on the backstreets between the aimlessness of dark houses bent out of shape on those forgotten streets of dopeheads and ghosts. My heart will care as I dance.