Tuesday, November 03, 2009
alas, wherever the birds of Orthodise lean, does the poloxamer gleam? where does the cow cry and where does the antelope breed? Are these things illusions or living dreams. I am, er, I have, I'm not sure. Where was I? Seeking something hard to seek, searching for something hard to search for, a pitter-patter of possibilities, a coherent stalk on a gerbe? A mechanical animal? A summons to the xenographers to tell us their stories again. Oh, how the clock chimes and how the timeless entropy summons translates into meaningful stories, whereas the churlish hegemeiad leaves around a feeling of perspicacity and the guffaws and the kerfluffle of the paradox of the goatgrease mainlines the bottomstrass of the neutral lamination. Oh.