I have spent some amount of time trying to count and combine, while ticking clocks resound ticks and tocks but all i've found is my soul with holes like old socks. But is there any soul that is complete? Except Ghandi and Mamaji?
Who am I, really?
What do I need?
There's the person I am, and the human shrouded in robot seed, that's the one you see. Hidden from even the closest.
The wind and moon call for some peace tonight. They remind me over space and time of the fragility of life. Millions of tons of metal fly down the drive. But if he felt any love then he'll go to the Nation In The Sky, he's already there, he'll paint until it's dry.
"i have a quiet love for you, old friend." the kindest words i've ever read.
-A
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