Halfway down the road, orange calcite a great stone for enhancing intuition and psychic ability, walks towards the open café doorway with a shaggy clay mustache and hair the glimpses of butter-softening-mountainous-landscapes dripping scattered light streaks of shadow, brandishing its mud-thatch teeth on a knight’s sword ready to fight the history and geography out of ordinary people, their places of attached emotional basements, their upbringing; just as a a taxi driver drops us at Dali’s South Gate, you may notice his left eye is slightly a different color—we appreciate every pebble in the riverbed, yet without gluten the cargo craft lifting from Cape Canaveral doesn’t use any digital manipulation, instead she paints using shades of sky and clouds of shapes—we are waiting for light to remain a luster of olives—see how they allow longitudinal acupressure meridians within-the-psyche axiatonal lines of a photon, (transparency: body), to flow a taste worth acquiring?— Sugar-crystal sun setting houses spectrums of corn stalks beckoning halfway down the road for you to come forward and play.


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