the words in the book that led to the back, the car in the street that told you to move, the time in the air that held up the rat. it's all the same. the place where you've been and the top that you spin. the time you came friends and the hand that you clench. obiously there's the anomosity between the lines that have dirt which has disease that entitles to roam as freely as the bird and kill like the assasin that camped on the roof with that spinning top and a bag of suck. suck does the vacum before it spits the air or hanging the fairest one of them all. ta la fa sa ca ma? probably, not going to lie? yup. i looked to the ceiling as the alight looked to me to respond, a blink and thought later i fell asleep but only to be awakened by no light or blink of air in the floor. but wait, how can the floor and blinking produce light in the abstract mind of the top? i reasoned with a response not suited for marriage. "why? what would you desire and why would you become the innocent desirable? plagued with paternalistic tendencies." It didn't know like trees and snow who in time are peas and blow, the high controlled by snow. to finish the last i bring back the list and cast to the past, from: me. to: end. because in all due time, we too will write an end to ourselves.