As was his language so was his life. ~Seneca
an air-conditioner's job is to erect a tone the hook in the circle a scumbling between the smear to know this as an anarchy of wallpaper a newspaper once faded still retains the charm of its particles for feeling crumpled crushed faded and torn some more are born and carried quickly into the streets trussed up like cakes of prayers (stariadnendymion) the silent sound beneathe a singing bird a cage left open
