Caroline is sitting in the dark;
The black,     and black black juice's shade,
2 records the unique shifting image.
Brian created the world as black and white,
licked and healed and saw the shadow.
Northeast, Great Food, Moon House,
Acid Green French Soul, Spirit, Ghost,
Kenyan Counterfeit Police, New York,
New York and Queens a few years ago.
Soft, pretty,                        and others use a playground that plays and plays...
Igor's Yiddish children's very old ****** dreams
famous for British Computer,                                                  and
the Computer
Language Computer Museum in Mexico;
Mother's mother,                                      Johnny John and bird-men
Sisera mēšekeridi discovers Noah's *** or ****** life,
rotary engine ****** Bhoj yep ini INI    republic of the republic in the ruined scattered opening will be held in December,
but five dogs,                                                         animal spirit ball-greed girl
but the presence of deadly stars,
in fact, devil's play,                                                            ­             ulcers inik'ik'e.                            Toshi's crazy something to ask Paola to sleep,
Irish green plastic coils death on his couch
Kirishi feyop,                               E ey, yemyik'oreretet'echiviga
and invisible celestial women fighting against homosexuality's
Satanic club;                                     Esketiki during the season,
sun sun jaribechevelechy love daylight,
year year years years years years years year year year year
and color ****** jungle forest George February
and golden historical animals,                            skin and skin for a long time.
Friends long dog,                                            dog combines German genetics,
               use thousands of children's monks,
               changes in the middle of Russia
and, Russia's first fashion model uses yellow behavior,
bad, ah,                              no Black meaning;
Mary is sitting in the dark;
3, dark green dark, loss (or final state) disaster.
The darkest days of war, terrible, terrible,
terrible, terrible, terrible horror, terrifying evil
and terrible destruction,                  the worst child noise in the worst case,
upon request letters of power alphabet
(Charm performance) is forbidden English    / Bright and "Effective Dark Lord, "Two.   "Liloni gets the phones of the same student
One is very easy.
The man is sitting in the dark;                                  Caroline is in the dark
Black and black black pigment
juice,                       2 records of the unique change.
Brian created the earth as black and white, light and healed,
and saw a shadow.        Northeast, Great Food, Moon House,
Green Acid French Soul, Spirit, Spirit, Kenya,           padělecká police,
                                                                ­    New York, New York.
and Queens several years ago.
It uses soft, nice, and other playgrounds that play and play.
Igor's Yiddish children; I dream of a very old ******'s famous computer; computer and [computer computer computer]                 in Great Britain, in Mexico;
Mother's mother Johnny John and Sister's Pub's
attendants,                                  mēšekeridi appeared to Noah *** or *** life,
rotary engine Yepini ****** Woman;              INI, Republic of the Destroyed Republic Opening,                               scattered will take place in December,
but five dogs, animal spirit orb-saint girl,                       but the presence;
The stars are deadly, in fact, Jawbreaker, inik'ik'etotshi ulcers crazy,
what to ask Paola asleep;
Irish spiral death gray plastic on his couch.            Kirishi feyop, ey,
celestial ga yemyik'oreretet'echivi  
and invisible women struggling against homosexuality's Satanic
Eske tiki club during the season, the sun sun jaribe chevelechy,        year fine daylight years years years years years;                     YEARS YEARS YEARS
                       and the color
of the ****** jungle forest;
George generous golden and skin,
skin and skin for a long time.             \  The German dog's dog is a long dog, which uses thousands of monk children,  
           changes in the middle of Russia, and Russia's first model uses yellow,
                                                                ­           bad behavior in Black means;
Mary is in the dark
3, dark green dark loss (or final state) disaster.
The difficult days of the war, horrible, horrible, horrible,
horrible, horrible horror, bad scary and terrible destruction,
                the worst children's worst noise in the worst case,
to request the alphabet letters (Charming performance)
is prohibited English / Bright and "Dark Lord," Two.
                      "Liloni gets the same student's phones;
One is very easy.
The man is sitting in the dark|

Am I able to say I would like to carry you to that
oblique lake overseas, where we can still imagine
“the early 19th Century twilight,” and from the
trestle see how a self-determining logic in the

form of rationally organized matter—the luster of
metal, a vanishing glimpse of the moon or the sun,
a smile—becomes conscious, self-conscious, through us;
a freedom emptied out into that time we were

rambling to and fro like the rivers, and the dust
blanketed inscriptions on pulp condoned from trees
planted with the depths and heights of the human
heart as such? Yet how can we picture abstractions

that we can not live in alone, but perhaps to
imagine, with this, a criss-cross movement of
subjective expressions, views, and attitudes where
I sacrifice myselfs and my topics alike to a faith

we know is unwarranted, a slant illustration of
what we’ve agreed to call truth; the shimmer
of a bunch of grapes by candlelight, its joys
and sorrows, its strivings, deeds, and fates.

* * *

And when I say “this” I mean this, philosophy,
or pottery, or e-mails and short tweets between us.
And when I say “us” I don’t just mean the two of us,
you and me, but humanity. Of course, the abstract

is always felt through the concrete, as, when our  
arms were touching, I felt what I am unable to say.

Reason is terrible,
                      when
its certainty of being
all reality has been
                     raised
to the level of truth,
and reason is
            consciously
            aware
of itself
as its own world,
and of the world
              as itself.

Lily marked the gravestone. A white streak across grey cobble, the crumbling visage of a turning sky reflected in the puddle beside her. New dusk brimmed grey gold, a heady dust galloped with the rising easterly winds, a white streak across grey skies. Lily marked the edge of her notebook, nine-past-ten, the end of second period, a break in consciousness, then a tang of blood from her swollen gums. Lenin rose above the rooftops, a hand brushed her forehead as the paramedics left, a black bag.

The answer was heat death, compartmentalised energy, like fireworks falling into darkness. Burning rice, spilt coffee, Ain’s smile. Nights on counter, pad paper, day old rain. Lily fell into a nightmare, smooth black, a single light dissipating as the universe died. She spat blood, missed the bus and collapsed on the walk to school.

It was the anniversary. Setting sun, plumes of white, the exit sigh of a wasted day. Lily woke hours later. She returned to an empty home, suffocated in a dream and rose four hours too early for school. Climbing the roof, she watched the sun rise, grey and formless.

There was ash in the hallway to class, the remnants of the incense from yesterday’s memorial, pencil shavings from the forest, fingers blurring out of definition like the trees around her, the soft empty breath of loose soil. Ain came to the store on a night like this, wind gathered silent around her frame. They found themselves atop a bus shelter, lights rising from a sea of nothingness.

Eight-forty-five, the chalk felt heavy in Lily’s hand, white dash across infinity, city blackout. Everyone went to see the dam, cracked pavement, Ain dripping blood, Lily wreathed in ravens. Below the river, forest spirits wove among power lines, bird bones cracked beneath the soles of children, motes rose. Lily lost sight of Ain, the dam broke and children cheered.

Time passed. Ceaseless time.

Lily drifted through petroleum smoke, dashi, the burning husks of gods. She watched the river ryū sweep through her street, turbid with the broken heads of graves, mad with phantoms. She visited memories yet to form, nurseries of dust, cosmic return of the infinite perceiving itself. She cried, remembering everything, the smell Ain’s wet hair, ricochet of a glass bottle, Lenin’s dirt-smeared skin, the birth and death of the universe; mother unable to afford pad paper, sakura bursting the sky pink, couples riding past on too expensive bikes, father drunk on sake. Ribbons of light danced around Lily, a playful susurration, feeding her more and more memories.

Isn’t it beautiful? Existence burning through itself? A departure with no ending, no beginning, no becoming? Haven’t you lived a full life? Won’t you live it again?

Lily screamed. Split dam flooded the empty grave. The same smell of soy, dust and sweat every day. Lack birthed in the space between, like teeth, lacuna bleeding. Nightmares and old memories pouring out like a knife. Ryū stiffened, red streak across the sky, tail burying into the earth. Rice steam filled the air, a passing train carried Ain and Lily into the city, crowds of smoke, her crescent eyes reflected in a storefront, the eyes her mother loved. April awakening of the forest gods, cool spring rustled the hair around her neck, a humid breath descended from the mountain to the lake. Warm rain fell in sheets, city smudged out of focus, bokeh lights departing, Ain’s wet skin—

The city retracted; a whimper escaped her mouth; her fingers passed through power lines, wood smoke, pavement; seasons collapsed, superimposed like holograms, snow and humus; gyoza steamed, air sirens blared beneath the shadow of foreign planes; kodama rose as ancient trees reclaimed the land; volcanic blasts shook the ocean, AI sped to singularity; reality vanished like light falling off a mirror and Lily ceased to feel.

Space is illusory.

Lily.

It travels ceaselessly through itself.

Lily, stop.

And we don’t exist.

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, squirming on the ground. “Lily, stop!”

Lily grinned, rising from the reeds, a cattail in each hand. She sped towards a screaming Ain, who tripped on a willow root, and began bopping relentlessly.

“Lily!” Ain cried, grabbing Lily’s wrists. “Haven’t we done this enough?”

broken pieces of a holiday clock
displaced by the phantom visages of
our own vanishing hands.

Should it come to this, without remorse? Like that orange, feeble
and deciduous, while we waited with binoculars through that gray on gray
afternoon for the owl to spread its wings. Perhaps it did, past dusk,
behind the trees, under those vaguely baleen-formed clouds.

The clouds cast shadows on other clouds, as if holding them up against reality, even for our affirmation. Did you think of me this morning, over your Life cereal, and did you miss the fruit?  The “organic wholeness?” What is the determinant thing that dissolves?

The dissolution of the self-contradictory comes from the dissolution of the determinant thing. Arguments formed in apartments over a bowl of cherries or a bowl of ****, or some such. Loss of a determinate thing (under Article 1262, par. 1.) is the equivalent of impossibility of performance in obligations to do referred to in Article 1266. We are left with the form of a bowl, perhaps a ginger bowl, or some form of lost lacquer.

The distinct lack of skyscrapers from SoHo up through Chelsea was said to be a function of Manhattan bedrock. But modern materials seem to have overcome that problem. Getting on the subway, he heard someone say “…as if each word is born with another word, and spends its life on lines looking for the perfect rhyme". "You know they mate for life," he thought, "the swans. If one is killed, the other often dies of boredom.”