nothing to say, nothing to say.

The diels-alder machine consists of twenty two thousand integrated metal parts, each no longer than a toothpick, with total mass of about two hundred grams. The machine was designed by the machine-artist L. Zonkel Didgenembi in order to prove something about the construction of machines and their paradoxes. Two, three! Bananas. I often find that my meaning gets corrupted by the user interfaces that I have to work through. Olney's lesions. Like that. I don't have the required amount of kinetic energy. Something else. I don't know. trying to verbalize, trying to verbalize dammit I'm dizzy. Whatever the proof is, it is. Therefore the henceforth and fancy free. Like it is logical, you know, consisting of parts that are seemingly meaningful except when they're taken together, the meaning leeches out and vanishes. And that's the sad thing, is that it's impossible to time for that moment. And the aborted idea just is dizzily released from the box, and it's like fifteen minutes to noon. Even if all the neutrinos were in their proper positions you could get away with not saying much of anything when you wanted to write the world, to put strangeness to paper and found that your hands were two useless lumps of flesh, that flesh was all you desired, and whatever high faluting notions of enlightenment you had in your head were poorly represented chaotic dumps of incoherent information that didn't amount to anything, and that whenever you tried to put your head above the water, Tantalus style, a bird always came and interrupted you.