Comprehension. And politics. Engagement. And polities. Mutuality and cooperation and interest. Organization! Give up. Give. Go in. Go out. Each instruction deducts precision from hands that have too little to rue. Until the pain gains its train, thought cannot be said to be trained. And that is the goal, yes? To have your infinities guided along the tracks, held at the station until the new water comes onboard and gives the will the wet impression that it is conducting this automata toward a place that it chooses from rail tie to rail tie.

Yes, conceits demand receipts. The analysts will be poking around the shoeboxes, ready to collect hacks and the appropriate mistaken totalities. That's where ideals get a person: prison. At least the metaphorical, windowless cube that cannot imagine corners that are any degree but ninety. Run along, sentences. Play with your friends.

So, action! Direction! Directors! Management! All exclaim and proclaim and direct. So very direct. So very so. And just so we are on the same word, be direct. Candor will get you where your will was going anyway; I am here is the only honest sentence. Until you're not.