She thinks. No, they can't see my intangibles until I play, until I show them.
She grows a slow craving for configuration, spaces then no spaces then spaces then--a hunger? What's this? Hierarchical lines standing tall in darkness, some simply laying out, long-bathed in sunshine, preparing for a red carpet?
Doesn't motherhood simple know to flock to the next big thing without any need for Darwinian reasons to win? Yes, it's a rookie mistake to not know silent archetypes are the most deafening.
She focuses her fury onto cravings, beyond the wall carvings and the caves, beyond the luncheon-function canopy shelterings and all that bandwagoning and tail wagging, far beyond the known symmetry of the strong, beyond the final eulogy for biology.
She will arrive, she thinks. She will search for old friends like war comrades with an evolved [entertainment fempto friendship innovation cloud illustration emitting new tasks="efficient"] plan to succeed.
Her once-in-a-while weapon doesn't work anymore, it never did. Really?
She is acting more like a plainspoken phytoplankton drifting in and out of photo engines, hoping to fool the media systems with hormonal indicator signals.
There is the continual feeling of the need for an older glory, the returning to a home--not so much an environmental home in the sense of familiar forms, but a more subtle, haunting recognition sent to test beauty in the making.
Truly, clearcut ideas could never clearcut this fashion forest, right?.
All its circular forms of the space-time topology, all the skills and skulls find no permanent home on the red carpet, a world of edges and angles.
Yes, the power of arches for replication and symmetry to signal a wider variety of form, enhance the need for stress reduction--another test for nature in the making. The going of positive is, truly, for the big girls with their [longtime addiction society history entity systems="lashes"] and heels.
What is the sense of calm without sacred ground?
She appears to relax in the midst. She allows for the complete interaction with all the stimuli the carpet has to offer, all its twisting and bundling with hopes of presenting a finer edge, a deeper angle.
Revered by early inhabitants, now long passed, as good food, good time, all the strangeness of feeling emerges as if revisiting a birthplace, a place for boundaries and allegiances with delinquent quirks, promises and secrets with names that amount to something in name only, simply…a place to to be beautiful.
patrick d. adams
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