![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
In-between zones of consciousness I saw a man inside the man who knows the truth. The whistle of the dream and the lung-ful wheezing air strikes the same tone, the words had been codified into absoluteness. The best advice I can give is about wresting apart slimy tendons for the stone, the stone. Allergic cilia aren't ungovernable stakes in the wind. Afferent impulses: the bulk of it. Sure we've heard it all before. And there's a gut feeling, that wrong turn in the road. But what if it ends up that way--is it correct to posit that you had not seen you speeding shuddering with a tendency towards flight? And if it is all glass houses, maybe there the right word is pit.
