a little bit, yeah.

Innards Cursivetherein vaporises its beautiful chorus with a whirling effervescent maelstrom about the bodies in play for such it is a play & at play both, elemental archetype exploding in unison, this visceral, cacophanous orchestra of fluidity, no specific shape nor form nor sound or direction, all alive & a-rushing within & without itself, its-selves & it, as the same, another name, as all here is with this delirial euphoria sapping at anything resembling comprehension or definable characteristic - all here without name nor label, without static for just joy & motion here are permitted & so in themselves, these sporting figments dance devoid of any aprehension or calculation, neither conscious of their vibratous motion, toward nothing, a void in its place to allow all to slip into & share unlimited spaciousness, resplendant vacancy, to fall translucent in any & every direction, all at once, pure senseless detachment, no skin to hold it in, no surface to feather a brush of the faintest touch or suck at some delicately supple tension, a union this is or at least apparent, peaceful realisation, release & in that instant of comprehensible infinite nothingness... freedom.

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