The child asked to draw a profile, draws both eyes. And a caption dancing around the vision reads: All of our heroes have blood on their hands, a demand and a a pride thing. He--row row row ism, is a man denied his own blood and becoming a composite of symbols, thus spoke, thus the entire wheel. So maybe if the symbols would bleed then they won't have to-- prove anything with another man's body. And can imagine a slow anonymous evening in the company of astrosonic friends and the only holy frenzy is that I Respect I Entirely and both eyes lean out to greet the drawer of these weeds kneeling and bowing in a sudden garden simulation of work during an act of pleasure in the ecstatic semi darkness. It was only me, late to the movie, body traversing the screen to look for a seat to turn into it
