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The virgin microbe of the... DADA! the vast and swirling live scapes of heaven, which way is heaven, which way is the mustard? What i curse i do not mean, but what i know not is this. this wind blows where it wills, has it not heard it has not a soul, or has it life? is there life on other planets? 'tis not the question, but "is there other life on this planet" is there not firents and virgin microbes, virgin microbes tending the fires of life and oh gosh the fires of dada, the fires of the fires of surreal sousreal the id and superego who knows which is witch. The way to heaven, highway stairway, highstairway stairhighway, staring high, high, high into the ball of light. Say not! that the sun is a ball, but of mustard, mayonnaise, and pure fool's gold. For is not the sun a fool? hath not the sun a brain? or none at all? blue and black and yellow, what colors are true, what are false, why do my eyes decieve! Why? Say not why but how. Say not but who. or what. Say not what. the apple eats me, just like the donut ate me this morning tomorrow.
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