Hidden in holy lands, the blank mind can't be seen unless it expresses across faces. That's the strategy for selling pieces to pesks, nets stretched wide for misspellings which only appear intended if you have a New Yorker's blessing. Don't show up or down or around or yourself. That's the disqualification train to the dirty river, content to swim with ill-bred fishes, on the stream that didn't receive its degree in fine flowing design. Water, don't fall until the powers that fee have said so: submit as you're able to the airy tables at which sit the grandees, trustees, and bored tender hearts who charitably provide their insight to the aesthetic, fashionable estate sale. That's how biographies happen! Go to your age, spell out n and t and you'll be in someone's money a photo bomb glittering with your sharper teeth in the eyes of those with taste.