Cassandra, say what you mean in this cool afternoon, say what you choose, sing the song in every detail until it detonates in the hearer like a hundred angry roses onstage with a lightning unforgettable–we shall listen as though you were singing from the unreal. Such violet achievements resemble words from the Cherokee tongue. I am alone now with the Cherokee word for “tears.” Moisture is invitation to experience the highest love. The heart must be moist if we are to make our researches among tints and clutch the universe to our core. Our future shall be fusion’s power.

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