flute flee

<-- where did the bautone glow <rico>

--> oveur der'ei <ricoli>

im thinking about how i once became one for the sun over amounts in time the stars become over and under somthing going forward. i amount myself under also something going on in the press of science and it also took me forward very much then was that both ends in what derived in such the ideal in what in the main, a medium, took me with all exposure to about in time, the ends of something holding inside both with and without or with or without model and value. then somehow i certain made out cows and grass, something also going on in the horn of a crow over the spring season about the perdition of the grounds misgiving whereas time took time to get maybe to a certain detailing as such there moveing over and within also took me to distinct time making up in points gaining the formal weight a such distinct pattern in a detaul in models and things remaining not so much holding the formal taste of what contain in the most fitting of what certain made out a model {any way}. so then coming to the final moment in the numeralogical order of the numbers behind the word 5 took me forward in the culture of the drag of the well within the numeralogical value of 8 and so much came under my mind and nothing came out in the night until the day comes over and i touch my sleep in front of the detaul of the medium and the great of all nebu showed me in certain detail who maybe {was} behind the distinct points making up in time over some amount of months of time. i will say, the bautone doesnt make me up for what i find with the model, the medium or anything outside of any thing else inside the bedding of my sleep. i new it right away a lie showed up where i took all the formal of my mind in the rightfull placement of the word "somatic automa". i know all maintaining that nothing brings you to god without the mind telling you its fucking got some damn color first. behind more months maybe ahead i know it maybe the bautone mind as well might have showed up but im sure chinese monkeys dont crawl out of hole in farmer fields and also i know i looked the weight of the bautone under my own skin, any way the idea. you might say somthing to yourself when i say this under my skin atherefore in prose i seem to make out this within the press of some time in my automautic miend.

"able is the man.

 fallen and dry he sips.

 the fly of risen cow.

 over the black and white.

 under the silk of room.

 may, the rich man plunder.

 the cast of a dying lamb."

 

a current plaux in my mind

 

"firmanther firmanther.

 i find ov phuln in aft dwelling somewhere.

 you left me in sum of what went out to pale youd in modir iey.

 i found thee under the whales bile in sight where took you for them.

 say me and say you in the again.

 i lost sight ov my own son.

then ive got no then and i thin out and finds me under no well within the press of

the mour material.

you find one ill find out in the rest of them, the pages.

they are for me but thee in the fod find me paleing for steps in the modir.

ive got it all left to the Lord, and now i go in and out of the prophane where

left me to it again in remorsi.

coming more often than nought, i need it mour than thee in foul.

you make me seem coming to myself that you find rest mour than dir en mir mime me.

y couma foo. oookeetl okeukli"