Off screen while you were gone, she died

Questions, The newspaper in the window right?

Making this work of oil, building it's seeds from the stone. The night is plenty deep, let's burn the shadows instead.

I believe that the heart this thing is a warm and ruddy faced Socratic observation. Now whether it's a hypothesis or a conjecture too, does it even matter? We live in this time of indiscriminate hatred and loathing, people are everywhere. So much so that even our suspicions are guarded from themselves. I have this grandiose sense that social media is a symptom of all of this radicalized fear. Our passivity and confusion is in some very particular sense institutionalized by the presence of Facebook and Twitter. But the thing is this institutionalized fear couldn't exist without animosity fueling it and making it grow even more fearsome.
Some people talk about the responsibility of media but I'm not so sure that's entirely accurate. That's how this story starts itself and a little boy answers his door. A tall man hands him a very big package and he tells the little boy to, Choose wisely because you can only open one. Hah, isn't that's rich. We're all limitless, She laughs out loud. When we're not divided up like this but when our purpose is at hand then we'll be old and lost. This is the thing, our sorrow has no outward form, no order at all. It's not a day that's standing by because days don't stand in line, this is the thing. You can drop a pen or fix an old phonograph because we're limitless, She says. Our ideal should be to define all of the purpose that can accommodate the ephemera of our process without miring its ongoing preservation. Here, take this paper. You'll see for yourself soon enough.
Nan, or the woman that's speaking says that, Our standard foils, the tools that we can afford to use are disruption and engagement but don't write that down. That's a secret and of course there's armies listening. So don't write that down.
There's a sudden light in the window. It's the flash from a car turning into the alley below. We can hear the doors open and close. The driver signals to some unknown in the world outside the kitchen. When I think of the times I've had. Going through boxes and sharing meals with strangers. There's nothing like it. They'll tell you that my fields are sown. My richness is dun, my decisions are decided because I'm spent. They'll tell you that I'm the lure of nostalgia, as ubiquitous as sex is exceptional. But oh well, Nan shrugs her shoulders.
Anyway the boy has this great big box. He closes the door and sits it in the middle of the rug. He's a little confused. Nobody has ever knocked on his door or handed him a box before. The tall man said he could only open one, What does that even mean? Are more boxes going to come, he wonders.
I'm telling you this because you're young and your mind is full of plastic thoughts that represent all of your enthusiasm. You're going to be all you'll ever want to be or hold. You're going to be that, or you'll be the master of none, She spits at the cat. But I'm not your dog. Not anymore you little shit, She yells at the small calico until jumps and slinks off somewhere.
It's the purpose of 5 young men to lift one very heavy thing. It's why they're young. It's why they don't know any better. If any of them came that door and you answered it, then you might be confused for many reasons. Maybe you know there should be 5 of these young men or maybe you have nothing that's heavy for them. It could also be that you're just very slow and you didn't understand the young man at all.
Here's a box with a golden shell. It'll splinter so be soft, Nan stood behind the boy and pointed. This is a box that's able. There's no eel, no kind fish or apple of the day. In fact little boy, I can see that your whole table is weak.