Hey, guys, hey, guys, guuuuys. My miniature DVD cases outnumbered my big ones, but I'm afraid I don't have the time yet to play with you, even though now I can. Stay right there, ghostangel, get your little twin windows back -- oh, congratulations again. (Also, know that the traditional druid tends to be a hermit, so why reconcile?) Speaking of ones, I've forced my roommates to stock in them in the fridge, so now they disappear fast. This is yank behavior. When did I start saying "yank"? I am not I.
The papers stack attop one another, and when used, thicken with graphite, charcoal, and whatever sepine is made out of it. Wax, I'll wager. Still insufficiently industrial, busy, but not having done anything. Mind the portable radio, his batteries run down and it can't discern the signal. Historiography is boring but unavoidable; there's no reaction button. Ghosts might just be confused.
Our interactions grow strange, I guess they always were. My sense of humor has dried -- wait, was it ever wet?
Infernal machines! Batteries, motherboards, cords, plugs, less than a penny, $99.00, maybe it was a loose cord or something, we fixed it by not fixing it. What if I could find the time again, take it back, would I treasure the once lost? There's bits of plastic in everything now -- that's a shadow of modern: in our faces, in our hearts, of course in our possessions, in our language, in our paint, now we'll put it in our . What , -- k , and that's just to start!
A thought experiment: replace every "they" and "them" with "we" and "us". The universe can be so small, small enough that it's just us. We'll curl up in each other like kittens and we'll be warm, or we'll explode like the big bang. Perhaps both will happen. Maybe they both did. Ahh. That's how it happened.