Today--to oUr satisfaction--steamrolls 4-thousand in there pitching, managing great-grandmother(s), son(s), and daughter(s): that I then read patient suffering. A loyal SALary man climbed up in the tree (the typhon totally untrue). Death bones brain. My much-loved Miss Googles alwayS the Shipping Clerk dressed as Monkey Girl Biker. (An Ion!)
in the last world there’s a kind of paradise, the essence of pure bliss in which you are oddly conscious you exist - you can’t see anything. Not even there it’s possible though to speak to God, not even as dead men - each manages himself own light
in the last world there s a kind of paradise, the essence of pure bliss in which you are oddly conscious you exist - you can t see anything. Not even there it s possible though to speak to God, not even as dead men - each manages himself own light.
of paradise,
the essence of pure bliss
in which you are oddly conscious
you exist -
you can’t see anything.
Not even there it’s possible though
to speak to God,
not even as dead men -
each manages himself own light
a kind of paradise,
the essence of pure bliss
in which you are oddly conscious
you exist -
you can t see anything.
Not even there it s possible though
to speak to God,
not even as dead men -
each manages himself own light.
this is great.
do you have any chaps or hard copies
being published (by anyone)
that i cld get a hold of?
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