It was only a few hundred years, and months, and weeks, and days ago that a second passed in which a thought was

thought and a image was etched into the mind of a casual bystander who had spent their day lounging and loitering by the

old mill which was illustriously built during the pretentious period when slavery had run rampant through the streets like when

an elephant isnt given enough meatloaf during its daily routine so decides to huff for a little until reaching a quick fit

of recognition and understanding the insignificance of it's trunk and ears which flail in the gail winds like a flag whos owner

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

should at no time be mentioned for the shock of how they were born would surely grind the teeth of the evesdropping mother

whos worry for her children transcended the speculation of how far a pen can draw a line from the start of one page to the

end where the ink starts running off onto the table and runs slowly towards the floor where it finally dries into small prunes of

letters slowly forming the meaning of life which just so happens to have no connection to how a squirrel will always forget

where it has stored its food for the winter air cutting into the warm exterior of the human soul floating side by side with me but

never quite touching as if this were to happen the light produced would be so bright I would be left seeing stars slowly

burning through the last of their fuel reserves until they at last fade into the pitch black from whence they came, causing the

last remaining blink and wink to shrink and slink to the brink of extinction where they will never truly be dead until they are

never thought of again.