At this time there was an expectation of terror meaning cops in kevlar and the green civic garbage cylinders sealed with discs of steel.
At this time the new train ran to an underground forest sheathed in books.
This time many years after the towers near the sex of the city were found to be twin cruets of jizz and sang.
We all floated with the same specific gravity in the constantly moving stream of money as of this time.
As in time of strike there was quite a bit of garbage loose in the street not like an orang-utan in the Rue Morgue but it eddied and whorled at the edges of the seductively weeping stream.
I was riding a swan to the underground library or having sex with a swan under a shroud of words.
As of this time we kept a copy of the city in the library and another in the ether.
Constantly offered as a time of therefore but with a feeling of as.
Kevlar and carbines and garbage reduplicating into the quotidien in the time of the Plan Vigipirate.
Not more people in the street but more intensely as in the time of a transit strike promenading behind the veil of speech.
Around this time we thought of the skyline as new nature.
And through it flowed the invisible milk as through the ether and the sewers the milk of capital.
There was an expectation in everyday life.
It gathered in the dead spaces beside the endlessly grieving stream.
Of milk jizz and sang in the time of garbage in the vale of lang.
The shining order the burning simulations there are more of it.