The weather would change. The feeling would suffer its transfer. I would like to say, one is going against the inner person. I do not know. With life, trying with a sweet tooth, wilderness is intense. Looking at a thought, amazed by horizons, so unmatched, so extreme. I made a bed. This is life. The art is another’s welding. Such a large matter. Such is existence. So much mathematics; so many algorithms. Keeping a piece. Collecting fragments. The core upset, shaken. To sit and undergo force. The power of the discontent. A long road to go. It just topples over into smokestacks.
