Friday, April 30, 2004

aliens learn binomial but will not teach. the fins of fish flip liquidly, but aliens don't consist. these aliens, doors and latches. under guarded testimony, we exert that here's a war we never meant to have. the aliens click and shimmy in the wake of something quite unique. it isn't music exactly but it isn't not. so we seem to roar when we read some books, and the aliens bunch together. a loser ratio spurns our work, which isn't work and does no good. what are we to do? we squawk, wondering how we got this geo-political situation. we're proud and delving, loopy, dreadful, soaring, whatever, here and now. isn't that enough, and the books we read as well? haven't we lyric moments to paint upon the sky, and gorgeous laity to sing expression? aren't we enough when we are language? who can tell? the aliens say, exhausted.

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