fig.53.32) zip along home Complete this sentence, in it's box being shared by the dead architects are all of the calendars they've ever made. Bastards full of pomegranate they, now's a name for juice. Serial, serial open up (Old tits abuzz around these circles) crazy atoms explaining space to deaf angels that aren't like they're animals of mass. Gusting darkly, this day in form alone spent with the tips of my fingers searching. Fishing by myself underneath what's nearly lost or absent even mass seems to have left me ineptly panicked in these reeds with their dregs beside this flat ass bog a house of slow porridge and?