Sentences will floated along like a dead gators. The thought waves will ebb and die. In that silence an idea will be born. It will cry out its lungs. The cry will ricochet on the cranial walls like a stray bullet. It will fail to ignite the neuron that would have shriveled and died long back. To achieve this all you need is to stop living, spoke the great guru Deathopadhya.
All the rants and raves from a brain that has endured decades of anthropological abuse.
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