runtothere

cuddlie kittehs @ brushy mount? to go there expressly past  ersatz awards for arbitrary stopping points and Daily Planners forgetting what it means to try together but to be alone up there with the gorges, bluffs, and Platonic caves even a headlamp becomes a shadow so beyond things as to lose is to find the self, or the terrain, a breathing underworld what life is like underwater for years now all this grey coming down in strokes for traction, where’s the gravitude on this bed of ocean, where do I lie, or do I stand among wet sand a conch, and then the sleet in lines to fall while yet inclining to take that leg out of that swamp to feel the briars scratching the sound of a mind on doubt puffs white smoke, an effusion from the psychosomatic nature of feet for the underbrush that tears at this amusement of the motion to persist too easily slips out from under even the one who has done it. what is capable. no one has ever been here before, ever in reverse, the b