The world is sense without sensibility. Gravel slides - like atoms - rearranges all. The cosmos spontaneously vibrates a fuzz beneath my feet and we sit up; eyes aqueous; fingers poised to clasp the smouldered roll-up or sleep, omniscient, with everything amongst our neural dreams. And in our sleeping learn that stratification allies us in one divisive whole. We jump in Chinese cars. Chat philosophy with Greeks. Politics with the French, and then, with eyes aqueous and fingers numb and burnt, I know the world is understandable for seven days and nights.
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