the bad men work jerky with plenary districts still rushing to forget. why is it always men and the substance of their balloons? it’s about doctoring with cool testicle, while balloons are made into day stories. you’re on the beach of course or at least Fenway Park, trading examples of moroseness with your neighbour. the blimp itself plans to embark upon the second nature of intent. this is man pie, for once and endless. are you a man? like me, you have an answer. the spaces that tailor for doctrine resume an approach while scaling back the work hours of some little one here or there. remember slavery? it was a great stern boast on improvement. at least, it got things done. didn’t it, or does the news just seem shallow? like, what’s so special about microscopes, that you can’t just read the newspaper? the bad men envelope a few choice importances, and it seems rare even to hear their spatter. it, something, rains onto everything, it looks Spartan and tradeworthy. now we can infer what we will. the blimp might explode, but it will be for our good. the dust of example in the church of great air.

-- [from ongoing blimp writings}