Property

Come you are a mad revolutionary," said her uncle with a
smile. He pointed at the wildflowers. "My vision of the aspects I
more or less fortunately rendered was, exactly, my knowledge.
Anything nature puts in the sea comes up. A fierce man's rainbow
is in his head. If there is no Spain? If there is no Oakland?The
original field, once cultivated, returns to high weeds where privacy
is absolute. The shape of the story ought to be that of a spiral of
doubt. The landscape demolishes the house in our heads. The con-
clusion is a point of departure for the speculator, but the spectacle
is lacking in furniture. The pack of lies is insulted. The song is sung
but where do we get the words compelling us to repeat it? My
blood runs cold at the sight of death so I tell the story. If the wide
obtuse inside is a yardstick in this sanctuary, perhaps the universe
views the world like I see a two dollar bill abandoned in a cashbox.
Kiss my ass." He stood up straight.
*Anything pleasurably tolerable but only endurable when it
is remembered in the middle of the night, fields we walk on as
carelessly as bamboo shoots ereaking in the tropies flooded with
gross species of rodents nibbling stains on trikes, dictate to any
happy man what he can't live without." He held her up so she
could be closer. The erystal ball glowed with murk. She cut her
finger on the left front fender while trying to smash some lime-
stone with a stick. Her uncle led her back over the property.