Hello, my name is R. Nansen. Your poets have spoken of me. They have not said nice things. The people at Stolen Bananas paid me to write them articles. I am a busy man, I have many student papers to fail, lives to ruin. To fulfill contractual obligations, here is a page from my dream journal.
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Spit so thick you can chew it. Chatter lines harmful. People and capitals are the kindest. We still rely on the railway habit for great Wisdom. His pointed amounts of knowledge hung off the racecar. We is a force: through others, we see ourselves. Doors revolt to such beautiful and true discernment, singing the body erratic. Grapeshot shipyards enliven blazing Will, Progress, and Audacity. We lead on omnipresent tracks. Space is now our culture. Our knowledge is latticework, our days are hooves high aspiring to rediscover continuity. This is our gesture, us who are excited to live: We must punch our world.
Are we content with generalized knowledge? Insecurity? Wisdom pointed to affirm a racer's beauty more than any masterpiece. This that leads us intends us to take the adventurous polyphonic human exam. Man in the world affirms libraries, takes gymnastics, patterns enthusiastic lines on to time like that of a rail. Banners reduce poetry. Fight the content, aspire back, find the way of fearlessness. Courage, sing love, splendor, and enrich the eternal. Bridled aggressive mortals must make the leap. Serpents enliven poets who at every jump affirm the mind. Car needs Man, not the reverse. No flashing income? Don't worry: values died yesterday. By vast fervor or progression, we don't know.
Religions are harmful. Religions are destructive. Their work inspires traditional wars. Wisdom attacks essence and flashing knowledge. Rediscover the mysterious perhaps which leads to truth. Is there an evolutionary leash which leads us to Wisdom? Explosive, our human revolt seeks the circle.
Ecstasy. Beauty. Action. Sniff the fervor.
By the word Is, people want the word Culture. Find the magnificence in man which we once found in the feverish earth. Race to Wisdom yourself. We died in speed. The splendor of the sun seeded the nightly enthusiastic minds bringing a different revolution. Roaring is railway, the need for struggle, the glittering of cowardice. We use slaps instead. We hurl at spiritually usual days. Wisdom is the new action. The spirit of Wisdom sings, scorns, and paws religion. The insomniac with feverish knives.
We conceived the horizon. Will and Wisdom is the last material leap. What will survive? The Word. The Word shares values. The Word dies wise and is born out of a river. All we need is a bridge.
What criteria is needed for a tradition? I thought it was simply called the Earth. So give the wealth to the academies and other suffering bastards. We should have wheels which lead to an electric species of Wisdom. Ecstasy swells a Wise character. Essence leads to what flashing elements hurt nightly.
Routine is quietest with a definite gyration a sudden load of unpleasant dreadful health. A rush of rays stranger than speed a bit vile. Speed builds stimulating mutter. Only hours are lost. Experience life's reign of breathtaking speed and hallucinations. Bright injected rays recall pure mirrors dulled & confiscated. Do you believe sorrow is the base? All your anecdotes are constantly shameful. Small lives must be risked. It's an intense comedown. So. Refresh.
