The maximum came to the point where limbo muscled up. The troubles of grammar pale in comparison to "the troubles of grammar." Grammar is a question, mark you. Birthdays are milling into puddles of anticipation. In coils coiling and never any notion of letting go. The screech of meaning is not simultaneous. I don't want this body forever. Saying so doesn't make it a choice. The question of sense in sense-certainty arises because the first thing at stake in sense is meaning. Perception comes after the initial assimilation which was never in question. Sometimes it seems that you're not saying anything and then I hope you mean more than you say.