I WAS LEARNING TO READ I wasnít riding a bike. I was finding another reason to fall, brutally fail at going ahead, rushing on, whether to oblivion or not, enduring whatever assault sidles against whateverís saddled and riddled with envy.
A DAY THAT BROKE UP YOUR MIND while turning the corners of your book of abstract forgiving. Itís fortunate that knowledge can be summed so that it can be regretted in one fell swoop, much like giving undue props to a signal to crashland without warning.
EVERYTHINGíS WRONG, AT THE SAME TIME ITíS RIGHT, but if itís right, is it time? All those noisy ducks maligned. The perfect syntactical unit advancing along the least purposeful course on which to disperse. All that fluttering and all that dystopia, down the chute of a blossom, and out the portal of an uninterrupted rebuttal.
DONíT FORGET THE APE when you fill glass vessels with their requisite fluids. Match color to color and size to size. (Donít tell me you donít know how much that tall ó see, Iím measuring with my hands ó weighs.) Whatís given are the logistics and Iíve left home without them.
MACHINES WE HAVE BUILT have been caught erasing blackboards. Now we cannot remember our assignments. Now we have no clue. Now we just have this lousy excuse. Thanks.
Machines We Have Built