Death of awe

Whatever the physical existence of anything is, we do not need to appreciate it. Ready made indifference, the refugees of mundane, seek the absence of good or bad taste. An undeniable complete anesthesia of the marvelous. I seek to re-identify my corpse as a cross-dressing explorer. Where is the Maestro of magic? My barbaric tongue only knows the wild sound of my visual organ. Death to boredom. Shipwreched spanish twins read what was never written. Off to the Hardware store to find the whole and place the pieces carefully on the gut. Force is weight.