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July 21, 2016
If you can fly as hard as your imagination sticks to the sky folding down and around in a shape that defies the mobius geometry in its cleverness to dissuade the curving fabric of the universe to a flat denial of existence, how may I come to your senses without my own, without the degree to which I stay in place while moving constantly, expanding while contracting, getting longer, getting shorter, becoming my own free form without definition, without logic or the cumbersome construction that hammers at our senses, saying, come home and stay, stay where it all makes sense?