There was no intention — being done — with their existing.
not weighed before fighting which is the black, weighed, air — not the lips which have no weight — isn’t following
if one’s not contending… so the inner isn’t contending either…?
(at black dawn, in fact) — an ocean of black irises hanging in darkness of where one sits — so was sewing them; up, at 3:00 a.m., in silence, sewing — sew silk black irises that are that, the folds
we don’t have words. the silk black iris (formation, later, but then — outside) of my chest/thorax lifted off one’s haunches — is not the conception of the silk black iris (though was it, in lifting off), itself
that it’s formed first. I’d have to not want it in writing. to give up living
if we’re going to have to do this, it can’t be done.
stand the existence. this functions as a joke.
in the midst of the earlier life — young — one thought (as
resisting) of dying — because of death of frame as law.
there’s no time to oneself is the dawn occurring — its rim
it has no rim
pressure so that the mind comes in to the social unit
it isn’t done by people, there’s no time to oneself (it’s done by people only) — the night, the dawn, there
the constructed unit being no time to oneself — standing being completely alone
(‘standing,’ as ‘walking’)
flowering trees float the sky — packed luminous sky of ocean (a sky that is an ocean)
the group, not having time for oneself, opens that one floated sky
sleep-deprived one
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