This is stringing pseudo-intellectual sounding sentences together, Paul. It's NOT writing. Sorry.
I recall a time when the my senses weren't braided with fiber optic 'casings and my blood clot-free of the pulsing particulate from electronic messages. But I no longer remember what compelled me to embrace such a sterile body of content, or when the eyes of my jacked-in friends lost some of their color. This is no longer the controlled chaos of random signal and errant interpretation I loved so much. The air is rarified -- not from altitude, but amplitude -- and I feel my breathing room dwindle. |
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Comments 1 to 3 of 3
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