APORIA
Life is often aporious in nature. When you stand atop the obelisk in the frantic fields of unsound ill-logic and feverish alien visions, one may stop to breathe the cool electric air—in solitude and solace—for the monkeysphere is cramped in the minds that occupy the twisting gloaming. The sequencing of sentences may distort and confuse one into oblivion, but your salad-tong hands clap fiercely in the drawling yolk of anthropomorphism. Mankind’s puzzled facial expression. Unbalanced, warped, and vague.
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