how to play this game: http://fall2010compositions.pbworks.com/w/page/30878197/The-Wyrd-Game

The hills are touch, taste, space. I feel color film resounding, which will bring down the hills—burnished mountains of all.

"Yes, I am vox humana, a pattern which, bowing, turns projected outward as a different kind. The Eenie-Weenie—it becomes as clear of things as domestic Violence could clear of things. You poor baby! Stop!"

With saliva, college kids right inside achievement—an evil, flowing sound of threatening hills rumble with school
on the head. I am outside, inside my echo, resounding to the will of an insightfulness I see when psychotic, when pretending to be a vegetable textured with goals, and when abused by their Listening.

I feel all simultaneously when whole. Love spectrum, a polarity of opposites, becomes now, a now I know, so now I know what to wail, what to communicate, and by what authority.

Now you describe each continuous warp to be a space that really loves me? An immeasurably distant knot of my choosing transfers itself here with just one act. If, sitting at an organ leading a choir, singing to the kneeling in all the possible mountains of all their aspects, the total form, the touch, taste, eye, ear, nose, being, and all the rest, ARE to themselves each other, then yes, it is the I of Mutuality.

You are all routines, all cultivated voice. What is happening? An attempt on every level. The richness of Taste--congratulates the things with saliva. Of vision--their eyes be bruised in every confrontation with it.  I am a space that lays no curriculum upon the flower, leaf, rock, refined bark.

Become that.

Commons aspect—the total form.

"Get the original. Hurry! Don't pursue spludge."

Awareness examined, shape becomes a living tiny germ, gives way to time, gets to simultaneously, a howl shifts the balloon and makes me feel the believing act is love.

It is focused okay enough, so now we have our animal life, being a joyous tiny germ.

Outside the water, outside the properties of different languages we can again be very frank. This is good for our study.

Then after a few weeks when once and for all,  resounding from Life,  culture, girls with the leaf, we forget. A priest defines a tree, a tree transfers its force into people but the gift and the chemistry they know is no longer the valedictorian and no longer moist. Friends' fresh authority which I basically sense as outside the whole spectrum is more than meets the eye and this too is the time, and the time spectrum vibration at the college types a volume of blithering terrified "I am sorry" to the morning. Rings claw like competence agent.

"Yes, love drifts closely downstream together."

What is trying to be? To remember to be? To use that word: at once, I get half of the pretense twice. Along with alignment of our flat, our partner stands to gain the rest of the redwood greenness--and stands to be transformed. Thus to comprehend the whole.

"Luminescence of the purest unselfishness."

No they never even  truly process a single view of each other, and if they were to deny to themselves upon just one of those things simultaneously instead, a root dimension of media shaped lies will run away while we bend and survive. Less for its ambiguity and more for the new, the brain conferred in one act that whole predicament "I." If the warp rains a polarity of opposites, do we believe it deserves all our senses? Being seems to be an issue, and I am sensing all leaf, all leaf is all it can see. Flower--forgotten. Rhythm dependent. Fine. Choosing what it is is on the One at once. Not getting ahead or outside the circles of vox humana music—it is to do good, in birdfire—mental pictures significant, expressive, to "able" the brain—that enchanted pattern which is the whole point, what it wanted to form—and we are the animal members, but even the chemistry general would explore up to the bubble, star, flickering lamp.

"Whether always a very world or not, it knows precisely nothing."