The disintegration is waterily happening over the renewal location, being ahead. In blocks, Minecraft makes up the
deer, we make up the deer in blocks assembling upward to stand, to stand for—wait and being ahead. The world
materializes, around them viewing us viewing how everything, looks soft. It’s a real night. A deer has a first surface;
inside inside a beating from the motion of blood iterating itself.

Being a dealer of notions has a name, but I left it on the side of the road cascading a vision of disintegration. Some
things disintegrate slow and some things fast and to tear away an artificial unity. To wish for disintegration thinking
of Styrofoam, bad blood, or recurring things. That is how I drove away, and something left and abandoned.

If I had seen something it would’ve been ahead. If in the deer, we would’ve heard the blood iterating. If the city
would’ve held us, but instead a soft particle’s passive transit was recorded.

In the social time, people ask about feelings. I don’t think I have any, but if I did I couldn’t afford them—no one
could. Some nights that I steal and feelings from a bottle made; they are the easiest thing in the whole world to hold,
and grow the down that makes there’s only one’s only. But see no difference, unsure of the depth of a city block in
now far away far from the streaming human heart of a human person. I would lower a line into the hole to determine
the indeterminate depth, far ahead and the heart streaming beautiful and fast. So I wait. Night vision shows the sky
and the hole overgrown with cubicles, the cool liquid jumping inside me; I turn on the news Mt. St. Helens is
erupting. I tie a knot to remember that at the end of the line, to measure the depth and before the ash, I must attach
something. If you are

Here. Then I tried to articulate a relationship to people. So to have to look away, it’s a red sky.