Ex nihil? No, that's today, when the feeling clashes with a 'fect weather under whose sun I sit. All and something make a nothing, from which gleaning sounds like meaning on a breeze hex wheel. Don't tell me to make sens ation, it's a removal you were looking for to find a void on which to rest your laurus nobilis. Consistency! Comprehensibility! Each in the way it was meant to be! Suess's ease with a Whitman lea on a counter bottom that doesn't exist, for all the times you see it. Chop, chop, the turnip greens are spicier than cold pizza, and the sun brings us back to the beginning, a strife between a personal moment and weathery forever.