So I slept & thought.
So I travelled & moved.
Some thoughts are the edifice.
Some thoughts are the vapor or people.
They are inside of sleep IN TOTAL.
They are trucks, computers, lakes, America.
They are always rushing, never hurriedly.
Shallotte! It can’t always add up.
Twenty eggs; infinity sperm.
No air, no food, no sleep, no rest.
One planet raised by machines.
Now where is your Mote of Feeling?
Falla! My eyes saw no Mote anywhere.
Maybe it had arrived in the milk.
One morning the ship came down.
Railings going up one two three.
George Westinghouse stood smiling and waving.
The other side I thought would be flat.
And it turned out it was!
Single exterior golden scale value three thousand U.S. tender!
Brass faucets in every bathroom value two thousand U.S. tender!
We passed four four sixty Calamity, Coal Mines and Workers.
In every direction we went up and over fields and wires.
Its movement stem of interior possessed of Number!
Also the workers in the hold.
Not to suffer, no, but rather to be suffered.
And it drove They-We forward by that pervasity of LOGIC.
Advantage, advantage, advantage.
Falla! George Westinghouse Jr. Pilot of the Golden Chrysolite!
What a violence runs on toast and jam.