You can just about hear it; like the voices in the wind, as you are slipping away in that hammock, in the sheltering shade of a summer afternoon. A moment comes when you can almost interpret what the voices are saying and then you are carried away in the arms of a dream. But this is not so benign as that dream, or maybe it is simply a great deal stranger and neither good or bad. It becomes something for the future to decipher once enough echoing ramifications have fleshed it out.
It's something right around the corner. You can hear the footsteps but you cannot see what is making them. All the informational mucilage, the endless post nasal drip of headlines and talking heads, bears some evidence of it; a snatch here and a snatch there. Did you almost see it just now or was that only brain gas passing... a creeping sub-rosa flatus? If it were a byproduct of John Bolton, you'd be convinced that it smelled like someone had crawled in there and died.
Whatever it is, it is something big. If it is an animated creature, you could put a condominium complex in its footprint. It will surely be accompanied by swaying trees and a howling wind. It will be something that has been there and back again, meaning that history recycles itself like the things that you eat and the product at the end is not at all dissimilar on either account.
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