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My Dearest Children D.G. Zorich |
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I. Who learn nothing can forget nothing and do so in order to protect the refuse. The one is predicated on the other. Desires and assumptions are more critical than the events they precipitate, the continuation of which is based on a few seconds of unbearable tension, of physical personality and emotional delivery, an appearance of the appearance which a sighting will dispel, the wherewithal without which (not being capably in need of need or ability) you can't divine a past of supervised dying, which is not the adventure in growing up that I would choose to endorse: a freezer box |
from which frequent explosions occasionally vibrated. Limb from limb, we hand it out through you. I remember when I was young; I just don't remember what. II. 1. I'm sorry, but I can't get to the phone right now. Your call has reached a cul-de-sac orgasm, it will not be transferred, it will not be returned, you call has been absorbed, your redials will be bled. Thank you, from your past; your past has been deleted. 
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