Play. It is time to clearly visualize the beauty of madness. Beats of his wings charred. Of his long hair relegated to superstition among the scrap iron. You know. We will be dark for excellence. We will be God to be told that none exists. We did not want the freedom of democracy, but the rigor of anarchy. The other night I was trembling for fear that a tsunami was to get me to my feet. You know. A press radio is nothing. At most it will be a shell. Rarely a sounder. To investigate the many hidden meaning of our worms and grasp the truth, and the finiteness of a verse that says "Love has love as only argument."
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