I saw you saw this in a state of states. Trying to grasp it but thine head rocking into a nervous flow that speak directly to a core that’s unsurmountable. That’s not a fucking fly. Stop swatting. What are you swatting? And then the banks all dropped out but nobody noticed in midst of everything else. Most everything gone in a afloat the new-Earth ocean. Land like Waterworld. Ghosts like gusts of ocean foam. Concrete friendship to music. Numbers not in letters, but alphabetized. There’s nothing left but dream. Then dream mingles with a reality so intoxicating that belief is merely a drink of clean water. Plastic and mildew. Please, maybe I have another cup. My mind at “Nyangani Warp Speeds.” Typhonian Highlife knows something is going on here. Find it yourself:
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