There are so many ways of expressing that which is most profound.They are all the same. They all say different things in the same way, and, as a result, there is a jealous time that is unfolding with a theory. Most certainly rational agents can sprawl across the speckled firmament and repair the abyss of death, because it is not a cosmological principle at all, though it appears to be. A green mantis sprays evil religion into my love, and I treat a person unfairly. I don’t care about your reaction, because I have rejected poetry. Used cars are huffing up asyntactical bridges, and the force within me that pushes through shoots of General Tso does not understand what it is, nor do I.I hate and love Christianity in the same stroke, and I am the scion of the West. Exchange value sucks up my dreams while my guitar shackles fans to a fake face that eats the spewing sun. I don’t believe in progress, but I also do.There’s nothing to give to the world except my skull-madness without which I slit the wrists of a fox with three tails. How could I ever decide what there is? The key insight, which I repeat to myself often, is that there is nothing out there except for who are gonad erewhom skill witch house. Nergal knows more than I do, but I am grateful to the material surges which do not propel Varizen to wash my shitty feet.