periods are the holes at the end of a thought,
and as with any ending, there will be
some bleeding and tainting amongst them.

a cell is bound by a membrane and so are you.
I'm working in cells.
I'm working as cells.
I'm working with cells.
and you keep working until you
find a membrane too attractive.

(don't interrupt, unless its "key",
	any interruptions should be
emergent, immediate or contextual)
				we do these things to be both transient and transparent
		to others.  we identify our constructs, so we understand each other.
	(when mapping one's conscious awareness, check the keys you find in every hole.)

thinking and experiencing presumably over-lapping.

you need the key note to interrupt to format the context,      otherwise you just read:

the sign says National Forest Access Teller City 9 Gould 18.  
the flowers below me are bent to grow along the ground, much like us.  
what do you do about the rocks, how many wheels are you using?

one uses apostrophes while at home
we navigate as we go
towns feed people to the roads in merging consumption
at least they have words and pictures on metal
so we can find a way that works.

					the earth as a place for people to live
					living as something,
					once earned, one possesses.

A woman with a job (the possession being someone paid for it) 
in a yellow vehicle scrapes together a pile of
whatever was there, the superficial land donating a chunk of flesh.

Now others can make it there to re-move the post-organic piles, 
provide smooth transport and lighting, now that there is traffic to be controlled.
	Genes, which replicate molecules, surround themselves with a protein membrane.  
They react by developing offensive features such as hearts and eyes and limbs, 
which connect to nervous systems.  The nervous systems
		acquire skills which they use, self-aware of their needs. The awareness 
		grew to include transportation and communication between complexities. 
		They now could know each other's needs, and adjustments could be made. 
			A complexity, several thousand stone's throws away can drive there 
		in a few minutes or talk there in seconds, depending on which extension 
		of itself you're talking about. 
			Both of these conveniences are made possible by landscraping enough 
		to have a road system, lined of course

	with electric hand rails suspended by dead trees and metal figurines, 
	with light for night and limbs for the conductivity.
Roads are space dedicated above all to movement. 

Any confusion over this is confirmed in the soft scramblings toward the shoulder. 
Roads are not for the dead, surprisingly, but for life to continue, elsewhere. 
Almost any where, as long as its inbetween the roads. 
The grid prides itself on its lines and signs as it digests what it has consumed.