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We are given All that there is and ever can be, and fearing for our survival sings operas through the soul, drowning out frequency-tuning resonance. Your attention survives ego-thriving jibes: attune to the frequencies that hold your fear and resonate memories that love you.
We are given All that there is and ever can be, and fearing for our survival sings operas through the soul, drowning out frequency-tuning resonance. Your attention survives ego-thriving jibes: attune to the frequencies that hold your fear and resonate memories that love you.
Whether shipped or ripped like an egg-spattered carton, beseeching yourself to nothing new breeds tunes of longing. Burning a whole through center-radiating spikes, frequency stings home. Tuning the instrument to blisspitchshift-ing resonance rings true ... home, sweet nothings. Spaces between space, itself watching. Tune yourself , only you can play.
Having Fun,
Laurel
... wondering if anyone actually reads this stuff, anyway.
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