They’ve been asking themselves a thousand silently suggested questions: only happy-as-hell minus any knowing answer anymore. Why? Because there WILL sIMPLY be Another ten-million AnGlEs of answered understanding

Just how it is, how it’s ALWAYS BEEN— brazenfaced, new and UnIquElY improvised, these pretty in pink people who will sit and STAND and walk AND r-u-n—— at a wonderful mile-a-minute pace

For no knowing ReAsoN whatsoEVER AT ALL anyMORE: just because Jack Kerouac told them to do JUST that… plain implied and applicable thing

To grab that piece of SHREWD AnD TwiSTed SHREDDING paper, mounds of the goddamn Ink-ridden stuff, in-FACT!! And to… advantageously scatterCRASH all of their most both beautifully DEEP-and-interrUPting anxieties upon We

The wildly ilLITERATE Reader(Only, NOT reALLy). When it IS, in-fact, the writers who deem themselves to be

That wandering WaNdErLuSt thing: of ten thoughts per annum, if only! only EVER IN THEIR DREAMS

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