"Too many people, too many people, too many people. Just one was what I needed, just one to etch the score, to find me in that country, to be blitzed with the different landscape and peterings, to assist and insist that someone like you might be just as transitory, that you might add up all the pieces, quite like I did, and still have time to finish. What if before the day ended, it was all laid out, once and for all and all for once. I'd believe in that if you gave me a bite of it. Give me a bite of it, because I'm hungry too. I'll fight for what's left, and won't tamper with the leftovers. These are good things, I hope you're aware of, and nobody can quite muster the strength to inform anybody of their intentions. We have but one earth spread. It's ugly and detestable, and you can remember us, congregated there, ordering the food, and who paid the bill when I got tired and laid down on mom's lap. I'm pretty sure I asked if I could go there every day, and as far as I can remember, the answer was still the same. As many times as they said no, they also said yes. So a generation passes magically to the sky, its own hideouts and definitions, the way it insisted upon doing it just like thus or quite like so, its own beliefs stirred up in the midst of blue horses, and oh my God, so much trouble since the days when we were young." -Malik Wilson, All the Things We Used to Know
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