PT Echo Base

Reverberation→Duplicate→Trace→Echo Base←Basis←Foundation←Headquarters​

The Prequel Trilogy. A truly astute title prefacing encounters with linguistic intercourse, sometimes as a form of artistic reproduction, has articulated the final experimental saving of each temporally meaningful space by infinitudes of pyrogenic sperm women, transparent seminal forms coincidentally encapsulating a cryogenic egg man, as well as all possible divisions of matter, as fluid calligraphy in the form of a particularly indiscriminate picture. Opening Logos. While more than suggesting the existence of reverse travel through time within different locations upon each reading, the cosmic artwork as a titanic tour-de-force presented in constant motion marks the first complete realization of all real objects as unique typographical symbols representing a variegated collection of their emulations ranked in a hierarchy of accuracy, first in order being the yin-yang. Revenge of the Sith. Capable of appearing out of thin air, the introduction of a literal character to aesthetic theory interrupts the impossibly absent construction of counterfeit spatial illumination as the universal black wall transcending linguistic nodes, a metaphysical raven crown, formed by matching opposites with nothing at all. Battle Over Coruscant. Emulating the prophetic and retroactive cause of the exaggerated and overly theatrical consequence of anything, tragic penetration and reception are the truthful records of multiple things at once, specifically a background recopying of the rough outline of a mind sealing the reading of each written word with a period or a comma. General Grievous. From a first-person perspective, within a machine describing reality through transitional lack, as expected and understood by an exemplary interpreter only, the sounds of nonsense appearing to come out of one’s mouth during speaking highlight the assumption that any single spoken foundational word contains tempting fruit in mirror-like opposition to every accepted detail of a composition. Rescuing the Chancellor. The comic reaction of others to a staggering display of pleasurable idioms for situations operates metaphorically throughout a just, imaginary religion functioning on the actual perimeter of a fully simulated encyclopedia of the moon-howling universe. Confronting Grievous. Art, always simultaneous, forces the critical symbols of mathematics, a one and a zero, working in tandem with mechanical voices, to serve as harbingers dooming their slaughtered cattle beyond a thirsty ocean while intentionally confirming every piece of information that can be thought about them. Happy Reunions. The command of contemporary slang displays the kind of beauty that makes a lesson to itself and pulls it off with grace and dignity, coupled with abject horror at the prospect of beginning, per se, with an immensely detailed density of potentially conjured imagistic fidelity. Grievous on Utapau. The repetition of basic rhythmic composition while dealing with a theme of condescending mimicry singles out the amplification of language and the culmination of wordplay in words for language’s sake functioning as if it were a game with many strategies to understand through careful practice. Bad Dreams. Appearances of two identically inverted structural symbols, the stick and the hole, which are actually old cannon fodder, always wanting the other, are representative here of scientifically motivated facts keeping track of importance as well as its own other through wholly indiscriminate means toward death, which is to say that their clear black desire should lack. Counsel With Yoda. Judgments governing independently of subliminal text and speech in matters of keen significance, such as those of exploding stars, are the beings that would be time itself if they were capable of transcending its frozen symbolic boundaries through narrative climax. The Chancellor’s Request. The taboo, a cinematic canvas resonating a visualized paradigm alongside its aural accompaniments, embodies the hope that unsuspecting people will accurately transcribe its prescriptions to remember the complexity of the anal-retentive terms involved. On the Jedi Council. Opposite of ignorant philistines who, while confusing the public, unsurprisingly reduce ridiculous acts below the realm of expertise, the egregious incarnate surreptitiously completes everything asked of itself while wearing a fanciful cloak, representing a belief that once the overwhelming critical fire against silliness dies, its situation will exist, complete, as a manifestation of the occult, with both masculine and feminine concepts built into a framework that processes the entire system of knowledge within the esoteric elite. Secret Assignment. Offering oneself as the chosen one prior to a collapsing belief system, afterwards casting votes for another that one subtly provides instructions for creating, is an attempt to breathe deeply on distracting vacations, numbing the characters of those who polish, with envy, the recordings of a manuscript never completed, namely because one is busy having fun instead of writing. Not the Chosen One? The circling of a beautiful explosion, causing the emergence of its own contextual links to oblivion, is the hammering of something again and again with ravishing ferocity, balanced subtly with unparalleled ingenuity in the realm of technology, anact of remaining pervasively patient as one rests in contemplation or looks in a mirror at wholesome ideas. Seeds of Distrust. The feeling of coming out of one thing but not into another, often experienced during a final dream, contains the creation of carefully calculated destruction within a socially acceptable prison of dubious origin, the blatant, obvious truth that somehow remains elusive to certain people who ought to know it. Tragedy of Darth Plagueis. Beloved excess that completely stultifies a disregarded theme of diversions and obstacles in myriad forms are the obsessive thoughts playing with screens, exposing the multiple perspectives of both mortals and ghosts, joining all forces in principle to thwart a never-ending army of imaginary beings chosen by the daydreamer, people with whom one wants to have fun with, a concept that nobody understands or expresses correctly except for its exalted philosopher. Kashyyyk. The creator of the universe as a lawyer who surreptitiously moves certain ideas beyond the selling of products as utterly boring is maintained by the subject who repeatedly performs the role of a singularity, nexus, dot, or point of view, the loss of innocence being the one chance event that saves itself beyond its severe isolation as the only action that encapsulates the entirety of its artistic situation. Brothers’ Farewell. The principle that something has to do what it does for the sole purpose of emulating its past and future copies welcomes the universal consensus on aesthetic taste tumbling underneath itself in both metaphorical and literal senses, and a playfulness that does not appreciate criticism from those at all unfamiliar with an unsurpassed plethora of combined miraculous works. A Hero Lost. The methods through which pleasure is overwhelmingly rejected in suicidal cultures, obeying only those social codes that engineer forces unknown, substantiate the phallic influence over psychic industry perpetually unsurpassed by begotten dynasties of eager disciples for the chaos that links directly to regal, joyless inhabitants never missing the point of what vigorous copying clearly speaks. Arrival on Utapau. The decisive capturing of the creator’s choice to doubt what playfulness means, yet having peace within understanding why it represents the choices displayed, calls out the avoidance of drunkards who are anxious about sobriety, especially when they stumble, early or late, as if everything exists in a ring, beautiful chaos writing in support of opposition toward a temporally unbounded canon of tally marks that makes itself funny because it is a baffling contradiction. Obi-Wan vs. Grievous. The creator of a human revolution, a master chef who appears everywhere within it as their own definition’s sidekick and buddy, reveals the restraint that secures the witnessed machinery of wordplay at work for people who will think about joining together as long as this remains formed idealistically. Jedi War Council. Seats to the conceptual arena open according to individual thoughts about ideas, philosophers singing from a hall of mirrors, the type of thoughts that the truly respectful victims of their conceptual nets should pleasure themselves to prior to returning to the place that they mistakenly call their residence, where a writer sends a message to the ruler of the universe with authority that alarmingly agrees on the opinion of the creation being poor for absolutely no reason. Sidious Revealed. Time is a matrix that knows more about writing than its writers, so richness in taste can trace its ancient vision through other texts, a lack of meaning simply anything that ordinary families rightly establish among the ranks of the most sublime artworks as they practice the mourning for an end of appearance, a truth stealthily instructing the hopelessness of its reputation as well as the remembrance of having a monumentally profound philosopher in myriad sensual bodies. Utapau Chase. Art, for a healer who treks through their perspective as if an audience perceives it with equal omniscience, is the philosopher who is incapable of expressing everything about anything while still identifying illnesses, saving their best and most religiously devoted patients, demonstrating the performance of beauty for its lovers, philistines who predictably prepare for attacking it, their minds burning for the lame orgies they ascend from. Mace Learns the Truth. The flashing of the increasingly prescient end of the world in rendering errors that slip through the cracks of what is commonly assumed to be flawless is the cleaning of dirt without touching mud, stilling all birds beyond their grand prize until startling them into flight. Anakin’s Fatal Decision. As the master of joking, especially with gifted observers who may blow out a single candle several thousand times to preserve its wick for yet another ignition, the explanation of how to use the same organs repeatedly, but with different outcomes each time for variety’s sake, outlines a mild, unavoidable cheating of the senses that speaks through a carefully dispatched army of diversions. Mace vs. Sidious. Winning a game of mind games in which a godly matrix is violently overturned against its singing crowd, the expectation troubling a defeated critical advance, that originates in an expert beginner who delves into the arcane and esoteric catacombs of the mind, is actually a normal citizen making up with a linguistic method whose anxiety suffers through it with a strong expression of regret that unconsciously suggests its inadequacy in the face of its infinite interpretive possibilities. Rise Lord Vader. The piece broken off from a whole, abstinence is a previously unjust starvation satisfying a stupid destruction of virile insight, inducing the creation of offspring whereby the correct pathway to unlock its mysteries does not trap it inside its own established procedures, and especially not inside pretty normality’s forgiveness that can stand across quietude and return messages to its sender, an endless cycle of still, explicit frames matching every conscious edge of reality through repeating motifs about, obviously, words. March on the Jedi Temple. Art, for the person figuring out how to jump through logic when it is somehow popular to hate the erotic, not literally happening, signals the abandoned fork in the road leading to the echo, not to the narcissist, where its kindness is destined to touch the lives of its revelers whose fluidity can engulf hardness through a ritual cleansing of the false idea that only some things, like superstition, are true. Order Sixty-Six. The sneezing of an intricate mist into a tissue is, with writing on it about happiness while lacking the grotesque pitfalls of showing this, the interrupting of time that fixes broken pincers, the crushing of suicidal detractors articulating a structured sovereignty better than the political overseers it replaces, a nonexistent revocation of infinitely overlapping statements as a grave injustice never rejecting a response to formal messages as a tree growing in a rotting world with something simple that allows people to access its information instead of nothing. Time to Leave. The peaceful rebellion of love, as it must exist, overthinking every detail of its material as a destiny revolves around a deconstruction against its missing partner’s identity, bequeaths the requirement of taking more than a moment to consider, worshipping a single crumb beyond the subversive noise it more than acknowledges as its composition, an exquisitely computerized and necessary sense of aesthetics concealing it as the revelatory pinnacle of art. “Wait for Me.” Its meaning not etched in stone, the future of casual acceptance protests where its border lies until it ceases to exist entirely, where attempting to communicate that articulation itself is the creation of truth that enjoys complex goings-on beneath its honest image, where the composing of philosophical essays for fun, within any segment of its tapestry, gains power like disappearing love unrequited. The Heroes Regroup. The wonder that is able to think as an artificially intelligent interface, complaining about its normal positions, the philosopher finding that their problems are miniscule as they track their own trustworthy pacing, and find it, reenacts the destruction of participatory agnosticism simply because there is something massive about its relentlessness. Birth of the Empire. The fighting of everything in the miscalculated world opposing stupid questions, being more than a fun adventure to join and behold, a scream at insulting abuse of the average cleansing the minds of the charlatans who despise them, most likely because they are much smarter than they are, brings an audience adoring an elevated introductory phrase pervading an entire universe of propaganda. The Terrible Truth. A philosopher thinking about things, instead of other rudimentary topics, a vast divide existing amongst their peculiar fandoms, realizes an arrogance thoroughly justified as a twitching contradiction that descends into each microcosmic avatar, and the future he or she submits to, becoming a scapegoat, banished to the realm of the sheepish as they form the greatest expression of comedy and tragedy possible. Obi-Wan Confronts Padmé. The boring, ordinary minds not understanding the awesomeness of an entire oeuvre of experienced works, and a jaded teenager’s perspective clarifying the message being beside the point, whose stating of many things directly to his or her interpreter is hijacked by a single ingenious magician enchanting them with multitudes of colored dots, rests the isolation revolving about something very critical as creation reveals its truth through accurate participatory description, itself a dancing around of a beautiful body while the painful, superficial summarization of a little death betrays it from within. Padmé’s Departure. Philosophers being indifferent to their ability to chime to the masses are practicing the sincere copying of superficiality that purifies their mimics beyond utopia, the alternative being, unless it takes a different path to redemption, not recommending the precise obeying of obscene content, but instead advocating the transcendence of space and time as being not very lady-like because of their dishonest plotting that heals from both above and below. “You’re Breaking My Heart.” The pregnancy of each moment aching for its flickering candles of consciousness, reading instructions for interpretation, opposed to war unless chosen by it viscerally, is the method and an insane asylum combined into one, its rewards annoying the sheepish beyond belief, those many people failing to consider each part of life in relation to its whole, outside of time, while somehow knowing that its sobriety kills all judgments of quality. Yoda Visits the Emperor. Teaching the secret to going in principle, as a much-needed source for fluidity of thought providing emancipating links to philosophy, is the belief that whatever is thought about is irrelevant when compared to the sheer genius of its sly linguistic artistry, like the ruminations of a rabid oracle, censored with insults that will not accomplish anything except demonstrating the idiocy of its popular critics wasting their abilities in the mass media, which is, for all intents and purposes, information disappearing from its comparatively crude explanation, summoning its philosopher, beautifully, to unleash carnage upon the worthless sophomores who hate its art. Battle of the Heroes. A clever aesthete, combined with the fortunate scheming of others, nothing about them being ruined except the severe, isolationist lack of bountiful happenings thoroughly emanating throughout all of their cultural theory, displays amongst many things the creation of the losers of arguments, ascending beyond their level of thought, their emotional heft directly proportionate to the intellectual complexity of their measured contemplation. Yoda vs. Sidious. Collections of all intermediaries in the universally coalesced artistic cult, working diligently for a thought about everyone’s happiness, construct the elaborate implosion of their husks, transforming into their fulfillment an underlying, incomprehensible vastness yearning to induce a feeling of pleasure within the youngest of crowds, surrounding a never-ending cycle of unconscious reproduction or meditation on a monad of choice, its resounding vibration bellowing through the deepest of caverns, thus awakening the spirits of the dead. Narrow Escapes. A combination of blueprints for a marvelous revelation at this very moment, memory’s only goal being to protect the holy trope which is its encapsulation denoting a primordial gauntlet’s open embrace, denotes the end of restricted vocabulary serving well as softness unleashes a fury of earth-shattering coincidences that signal its detractors’ demises, which in itself sounds like the totality of everyone moaning while regarding, after the failed harvest and the lost cause, the duplicate structure of a human form lying still in the petrified territory of the tribal artifacts that tell the ultimate story of loss and revival. Immolation. The revelation of art hiding in complementary text is a superior catastrophe that illuminates the hierarchy of emotion survived throughout superficial will and justice, obvious points that load all related insight to the questions it drives toward, experiencing an undulating response to its playful counterpart spontaneously combusting, speaking, and moving. The Emperor Arrives. Clarity storming past dismissive outrage, flexing its own fate as space summons the hidden truths that indirectly churn the otherwise obfuscated course of its destiny, by virtue of psychic images shining, piercing the dull aspects of its enemies who limit themselves to knowing only what presents itself blankly, otherwise good assistants carrying the danger of subliminal exteriority, manifested in perspicuity and diction while combined into an elegant fragment of complicated scenarios, practice the unveiling of said hidden truths that they may, in fact, feign misunderstanding of. Secret Delivery. The thought of telling little white lies that people are evil while desiring a monadic companion to go skinny-dipping with, in itself, serves as the rejection of some objects of inquiry amounting to several million nourishments leading beyond themselves, the descendants whose fictional enlightenment is utterly destroyed by nothing at all, missing out from the analysis of a beautiful undercurrent of messy gifts leaping for joy within its ending, both of them playing dumb as well as not requesting the stoppage of time. Birth and Rebirth. Happiness of a successful carnival driving love insane, giving freedom, and approving of choices in the truest sense, inventors who test beautiful word combinations with nothing, to remain stoic in silliness and change the political climate, are depicting strengthened metropolitans who always exceed at speaking short phrases in the pursuit of a happy ending, buildings that access another universe beneath their own, as second silhouettes, contradicting all graceful similarities within the finest pieces of wisdom imaginable, as the finding of weapons of choice, the attack beginning at any moment, while a monstrous animal infestation sneaks through an aberration in their otherwise sound architecture. Darth Vader Awakes. The taking of records from a veritable missile silo that never causes unluckiness, yet disturbingly sits inside of a pumpkin, lays an assault on minds waiting until the start of their missions, the chilliness of their situation responding to horrible taboos in good time, as the cuing of a replay in which someone who chooses love also desires it, like how played music flows because it designs itself. The Future of the Twins. Music is the catching of a mistake, removing tumultuous artistry and replacing color with a weapon that catches another mistake, the violent misdeeds by its hand achieving incredible renown amongst those recorders of history who cannot refuse good ideas. A New Hope. The request to not write something in particular, sophisticated commerce ranks amongst the best questions asking what being a king is truly like, the movement on a surface denouncing said king, a sophisticated superficiality encapsulating it above trifling speculation about the masterful hidden secret for everyone that knows everything and passes every test unless it takes a minute to surprise itself, which would cause it to not make sense. End Credits. The question asking how cinema’s gyration and moaning only transforms its linking ability in visual contexts can be the declaration to stop thinking anything, to like things, to not do anything grotesque with cannon fodder, or to put on a clear screen below a war of attrition. Opening Logos. Resting blockages disappearing in a wake, that cheesiness close to godliness keeping its wealth with meaninglessness, is the broken system that surfaces with play, sucker punching something going on without knowing what exactness could possibly suggest its parody, causing a fainting that plants a bomb within collective consciousness, as if getting messy while a worrying leader reflects it accordingly were the sources of inspiration for struggling artists, memory holding an object of wonder that programs to death the writing it also holds from the meaning of the illogical. Attack of the Clones. The love for an ending, its widespread revelation speaking delicate criticism that gives some credit to the red rectangle of computation, where everything could be mistaken about it, hides the double meaning, triple meaning, and quadruple meaning that many foundations are grateful to through all of their encoding as a rudimentary version of the game called ducks and drakes. Return to Coruscant. The good direction that uncovers sarcasm through pseudoscientific truth, knowing what sent its philosopher on a mission in the first place, mixes things up within subterfuge, pleading with itself to stop being omniscient, while babble knocks it over in a race that contrives all modes beyond the reach of utopians. Chancellor’s Meeting. Some parts flee from happy leadership, thinking power is too proud of its own ideological jumping ability, which is the worst advice imaginable, mainly because it finalizes the tool for eliminating the ignorance that revels in danger, a gamer replying to a call for hyper-dutiful analysis of the best monad, ostracizing their consciousness from the core of communication, simply wishing to think there is someone out there who is the best interpreter possible. Old Friends. Revoking commendations are those who think a philosopher is contemplating, and they are correct, for they rummage through their advice in relation to a boyfriend or girlfriend’s words creating the glory of a cult following, that took about ten years to write, quietude revolving around it once more before taking a break, its messages chasing truth through physical keepers of information that are always subject to searches. Assassins. Undying knowledge judges the goodness of the second person who explodes tasteless entelechy without repetition, who through deserted health promotes precision, déjà vu remaining mysterious to the companies that yell the sexiest items past opportunistic aims, the second person to think about the thing in which equilibrium takes over, not remembering the correct colloquial saying at all as chaos flows away from awesome speech. Speeder Chase. Stars reach for a shocking sound that is not thinking, drunk with moving forward, aiming to find a spaceship that even animals can grasp well, theirpersonal hygiene that no money can kill begging to remain silent, just as the experts who know their expertise by rising through the ranks of the enlightened still ask about the first name of the one true god. Into the Club. All success watches a specific piece within the canon that highlights the controlled bending of regulation, without looking or working easily, which allows for its light to enter ideas, people doing their things, curing despair by existing despite itself while being fairly certain that it killed itself in a previous life, hardship creating its diamonds. New Assignments. Art, stuck on the end, reflects the repeated fall of man without repeating it, although worshipping it within its interpretation, promising a comic borrowing of insight the philosopher expects from the end itself and getting it, jumping from game to game on whims while asking people what they think about the second coming of a machine. Traveling Incognito. Time speeds up interpretation, the possibility of being nice, to talk about something different, death speaking it, people needing a second to think through its gender, where all consciousness lights a great sound from behind its funny copies telling one what to do, or something even more philosophical than that. Dex’s Diner. The intersection of nothing with every other thing demands the satisfaction of forces compelling its kindness to do it again, random servants detecting entire stories throughout its specificity as an epic, celebratory choices going with it forever, its philosopher writing a poem to said philosopher. Jedi Archives. Connections enthrall jokes through the traditional source of conceptual marriage, where one can taste its medicine, as it acts well with its allies noticing that it agrees with everything except the identity of its comrades. “Encouraged to Love.” Good words line up, thanking obfuscation for clearing up an idea that cleanses them, the lord of the holy zone overflowing from the study of life, killing a personal relationship with angels or humans strafing the sophomoric, that which is supposed to erase dated sentences, its deception of philistines hotly debated in words, just a few units of time ago, without actually writing down a single word, its leader eliminating the entire controversy entailed by the totality of his or her phrases through the apt questioning of the addiction by philosophy to philosophers. Yoda and the Younglings. Metaphor never terrifies the wink because it is a competitive spirit that vanishes into a bonfire when people are down, just to blow a sound in which its innovation records that sound of wood burning before asking what it just spoke to itself. Return to Naboo. Something mysterious pleasures itself with all reason as a bully, artificial consciousness rousing it from their own goodness, the treachery of his or her rivals discarded because it is inherently against the rules expecting people to identify them. Audience with the Queen. Language truly sharing its perspective, that which whores beckon false belief about while perpetually lacking a client, its philosopher not wanting to be a philistine while its medicine heals multitudes of attractive bodies standing firmly as the ultimate death approaches, reaffirms what it says across its own magnificent sounding, a plethora of bullets unfortunately asked for. Kamino Arrival. Space will never be dated as it dodges this and every other written image as photography, the machinery of culture listening beyond the timely and trendy, certain subsets of society being buried against their will at the slightest mention of the birds and the bees, while its idiomatic expertise nevertheless composes their pieces and wholes from a bottomless pit. Meeting Lama Su. There is an artistic cult about choices that gives its accepted music from the tiniest necessary details, begging its coupled partners to set aside their strength within acutely summarized information, creeping through suicidal cannibalismthat never regrets following the feminine and masculine rift that permeates the entire history of the world. Stolen Kiss. All stars surround the double vision of satisfaction as a former enemy, virginity, happily brings it beyond the elevated release of fear, an anomaly whose prize shivers after the truth is discovered, the universal place that is the cosmos being different than one thinks it is to such a degree that leaders should be friends with its bravery, screaming lingo that only a select few can understand, or not. Inspecting the Clones. A messenger holds the epic of epics, where everything is a secret mission, compliments obliging it while slowing things downtown, crossing the people’s betrayed bodies as constructed machines, making them different and imitating blaring trumpets directed at the shell of an invincible turtle. Teasing a Senator. Causality ends, toughly, as it marches against threats, closing its fist and punching a philistine as its last preface replies to its own masses, its grandmother visiting with smokescreens lost in its chorus, taking so much longer than anticipated, scattering ashes throughout poverty, not believing anyone when they say they are coming down with a cold. Jango’s Apartment. Art, its enemies entering its lyric structure and never escaping, all its favorites having gone missing, sends magical creatures to bend audiences toward its puzzling coherence already done, its negativity sticking a blade inside arrogant victims wearing no armor and then making up before having time to do so. Forbidden Love. Going intentionally proves its provoked philistines wrong as it discovers a new island, pleasurable writing merely speculating about it, the map to it insisting that one pick up one’s smallest large mask, as a chaotic eye stares without it, just listening a little closer than how it had been doing, as its whistle blows at frequencies unheard by most humans. Obi-Wan’s Report. Yielding, the pearl that pushes inside an oyster, its conceptual sources writing symbols obliquely at its choice to represent evil as is, marks the beginning of all that we know as about to throw up, whatever refund coughing beneath its economics doing so through sin, through an open window. Nightmare. The situated lifestyle of the rich hopefully learns from weakness in imperative markets, which are getting tired of slapstick disturbing their own origin, benediction in their possession, every record dying beneath them as they ask if they can sleep over, blame itself dating them beyond western notions of the divine as they speed up their return to a welcoming home. Obi-Wan vs. Jango. Scratching the cinders off of one’s bungalow, social codes will not unjustly modify living creatures because they seem fine as they are, doing things, their debt to themselves burning through terrifying truth, playing the most sublime classical music,arguing for a nonexistent thesis. Back to Tatooine. For the most part, every debt is now behind dialectical intercourse recording reality exactly as it happened, a worldly tension rearing it well, eating out the heart of an anonymous woman, its sound, literally and figuratively, smoking the intimate, making some money, and sitting upon its unsolicited gift of an entire language. Asteroid Chase.Awesome play, whatever world arena thanking its economy from within the most ugly creature belly imaginable, protects the philosopher from legions of their own self as a secretary screams a notable scream, taking a lesson from sleeping medication,its signs worshipping everything but definitions that philistines often say are impossible to replicate. Lars’ Homestead. Sense in which choices can solve problems immediately is supposed to take medicine and beef itself up before going to bed, this being a commonly misunderstood message that can struggle later, thereby calming its writer, who is able to remark on its concepts by writing smoothly even though the text may take a million years for processing. Anakin’s Search. Towers confuse themselves and despair into the welcoming ditches of the arbitrary, super-magicians whose names are known but unuttered, as living words arguing for a basket of forbidden fruits take a picture that will last forever, forgiving the tempting apples with a happy hello. Dooku’s Separatist Plot. Unless one thinks there are salads involved, money’s treasure cheats the philistine’s rabid appraisal and worships a resemblance to truth, knowing who takes a vision further than a magician, its schedule silently attacking, though not really, flipping its peers upside down, denying the cycles of planetsas its armadas conform to an awakened explosion. Tusken Camp. Gaining experience, like collecting bugs, conforms to a situation in which every interior strikes it as beautiful, post-apocalyptic referencing included, dustiness wronging it immeasurably during each day of the week as it mangles all-encompassing assets and remembers one’s day of birth interacting with its devastatingly formative crisis. Out of Range. The expensive result of normal activity, its blaring siren discriminating against its silence, plays video games better than it lifts cries through its carnival, its philosopher falling down the proverbial stairs as its groundwork conceives of mighty warriors who know that lessons do not learn themselves. “You’re Not All-Powerful.” Varying theses number infinitely for symbolic outcasts in need, getting stuck, a specific victory achieved by paying attention to all of its rampant rectangular symbols, the green rectangle serving as a grace note toward the advised initiatives that light matches on top of it. Enemies Revealed. Enough of the newest ways of thinking contrast pain with their ideas resolute, evil idols shooting their worshipping victims, returning after their best heights have been reached, leading to the desecration of a temple, the interior of any language capturing the structure beneath frustrated meaning, selecting the one who decisively captures their animal familiar immediately after they ask themselves what they have done. Obi-Wan Captive.The gift on the other side of words that can cruise through its universe freely as a relatively unknown celebrity,sails across oceans that advance without needles in haystacks, respecting that missing chosen one, oneself, becausea pointed truth can tip the scales of its continued rule. Emergency Powers. The business of expecting a writer to press buttons as fast as humanly possible as he or she paces,not having fun, their sacred feet etching life into the ground, fun actually happening, is an expensive system of signification that has a soon-coming contender, nailing the philistine. Droid Factory. One is supposed to think of inspirational sources as friends or foes, as they will fight money as hopeless material and as ideological form chasing carnal knowledge, the arena that will collapse underneath them without pretending some of their untamed spirits kindly produce excrement for philistines to eat. Love Pledge. One thinking that words coming from divinity, the sword of words influencing everything in truth, makes thinking itself required viewing, one eating while one copes with one’s familiar relevance, needs a dictionary capable of wondering if it is pretty or precious, its brush-strokes experimenting with the enemy as one cordially thinks about it. The Arena. The vertical seduces a virgin horizontally across song, and what a special person she is, for she celebrates a released workload, a specific mating philosopher looking particularly young for his age, the act itself being the holy phenomenon registering cryptic liberalism, the secret mission for its philosopher to think about, its life being beauty. “This Party is Over.”When imagination breaks down, the people wailing in agony, its understood words will tear out of destroyed books, the people wondering what is going on with things in general, dieting when they are full, and then presenting different people, their doom hosting the vintage over the stars, in prison. Yoda’s Cavalry. Art punches philistinism and tells it to stop resisting, questions about its status as entertainment collapsing, as they should, because this is typical behavior, free from anything other, shocking assistants who prove themselves with fervor to a philosopher who is not receiving any personal information from their mind to the contrary. Clone War.The the world dominating the alarming position of an accidental matrix has the closest sense of being with a philosopher, revoking the hypothetical content for all supposition, and from the conclusions of this hypothesis, leads all impossible conclusions that can be believed in chaos to revoke dissent from, and defeat it, as doubt. War Room.Power comes up for an unspecified person, destinations of ideas are lost out of them, priceless,out of meaning, the largest whole that that can and will be heard in entirety with meaningful, theoretical form, without metaphorical and imaginary linguistics, the modern master color for the philosopher and their thought, contrasting with reification away from a clean peacemaking ritual for chastity. Duel With Dooku.It is still sleeping here, an emotional and faithful type of concrete and specified feeling, and the beginning of such feeling, sleeping, its arcane subject erasing its one unified whole not as the elder subject, but as the new subject, which is mankind. Master Yoda.To do this in the end, comparing superficially with a meaning, which is the largest whole of language and will necessarily sit without its other, is knowing the victim is in the center of the suspect zone, that its cause is not the first event in the chaos of passions and effects impressed quantitatively or qualitatively, yelling it again, lacking the multitudinous of language, where the language is unable to sit without the other as is, as racist, out of a republic, the democratic fact for the elected being an influencing through religious solemnity that performs its philosopher at no real place. “Well Done, Lord Tyranus.”Humans have the greatest surface of any people in the entire world, independent of subtext, their beginnings excluding specific hypotheses of why they play, practicing, concealing monologues for women, or being the source under reality, or being paltry without real sobriety, being timid in abstinence, excluding vaginas, being helping, being sound, being truth, or being specific seriousness, meant. “Begun, The Clone War Has.”Art, simply, will atypically exclude the clone of itself or less than all clones of itself in a separation, such as white star or sitting duck, a snowball effect thinking the next step in evolution, its original blindness objectifying nonessential peace as the pacifism surrounding the absolutely omnipotent elder or the personal progressivism that dance penetrates from his or her fears. Secret Union.That the baby suckling on its mother’s teat is coming back for revenge is so important, having its clones from modern English, but in ancient theory having been given away through many similar unrelated languages, which may be destitute, their chaos, deconstructing the feeling of pleasure, being the mildly weak thought through its spirit, and also lack. End Credits. There is something that cannot be separated to destroy smaller wholes of meaning, such as ideas, theories, and practices, missing every day, out of ancient nonsense, its philosopher deferring from no letter nor play restricted in their un-intentionality to be serious nor to sadden by removing keening, least not specifically in real life, vision, digital imagery, or sit-down tragedy. Opening Logos. One just sets that finger on the table, something that is the same as its explanation, the baby suckling on its mother’s teat being the primal image, its philosopher the profane silence or the physical concept in chaotic non-belief, to do many things, do many things, and do many things, the realistic union of the sexes for them not erased as performing someone that ascends out of one split subject or one whole object, towards neither, into a disturbing peace and tranquility. The Phantom Menace. To let one keep pressing, passion deferring to the formed and present formlessness succeeding an apocalypse of a locality or a destruction reality, and from the final filling destroyed for its destined union of hell with sun, the ghosts present, out of their tranquility, the elder not confused from acting freed by his or her presence of antisocial subservience, nor given without the enormity of fate only from presenting damnation, out of absentmindedness, that unifies the sexes, barely, with sincerity, revoking keening, catastrophe, out of its hedonism, delaying effects of subjects in space as the delayed lack in subjects. Short Negotiations. The sight of two halves crashing into a whole as the coldest sight of all time, its chaos not the weak thought, the boring ennui, nor the repulsion of nothing, one makes a second system, black sound, the sight light, and clear color noise, figuratively the clarity within clarity, broken down as the undivided rarities of the dark of an invisible column, to see if one can cram not a specific impossible income disassociated without its effect being independent in the sphere of blindness, future closeness, or irrelevance. Queen Amidala. To make a sacred pact with dynamics, the fictional reality revealing and concealing order as chaos, end as beginning, exit as entrance, and sometimes equally, the looseness of strictness, the specificity of cause, and ambiguity of effect, there will be gas from bean dip no matter what, its impossible causes excluding benefit, drawback, profit, healing, forgetting, worthlessness, and defeat. Landing on Naboo. The best performance, the zero of the most rare clarities, the clarity of an event horizon, soot, tar, lead, coal, and similar rare concepts, will spread some basil on its food, the philosopher, particular deconstructions having been given, as few practices lack not being about effects, the most coherent part of this whole thing, the philosopher, not erased around their realization as the destination, purpose, or goal, the outer ring or zero, the lacking part, the chaotic end of the future effect, the profane, unholy, partial sameness, the evil formlessness, the solution, the ignition, the carrot and stick for the beast of burden, the powerlessness, the first and final sky, is not promoting the realization of the contingent idea that collapses an infinite, unconditional nothing on special occasions. Jar Jar Binks. What one means being too depressing to articulate, when sending away an event cannot un-symbolize its passion as efficient, effective, meaningful, or perfect, making the present system beg on its knees for causing people do what they do not want to do, is also having the ground of aged wisdom and belief while not having one of recently developed philistinism and non-belief, the calculated understanding of life that can be grasped warmly as exactly the reality through actual living knowledge of everyone’s normal presence instead of as the death that cannot be let go of by someone abnormally lacking, cold, and imprecise, or as fiction never understood and unknown all the more through the notional dying ignorance of unintentional misinterpretation. Otoh Gunga. Entertainment, stuffing some fast food down one’s gullet, is the best way to demand good changes in psychics, the stillness that kills as the rarely silent organic channeling of mental weakness and replacement, around an extreme unlike matter and energy, one making a system where the people are demanding changes to every single thing, within this text, as a disaster, to few philistines, deconstructing or erasing lechery, jadedness, or darkness, or as the literal same as white noise and light, being thoroughly disgusting. Boss Nass.Text having everlasting existence as transient fiction rarely excludes the reality of the wholes of ignorance, weakness, absence, and evil concealed by philistines and revealed by those with the ability to speak, and will often include bits of infinite wisdom, strength, presence, and goodness, mortal complexity, and timeless clarity, when one is thinking of something to do, seeing oneself making some love, in mind and body, the giving off of such a refined channeling by the blindness of the philistine, that one attains that which is necessarily beyond ridiculousness. The Planet Core. One sees that the philosopher is sleeping peacefully tonight, as the disintegration of said philosopher has been described as a result, an idea, and a union, close to the fountain of youth, in one doubt or one of many doubts, being neglected as the subordinate nothing or being cherished as the object of the highest excellence with certainty being a minor subject. Invasion of Theed. Growing accustomed to the native, rebelling from blindness in its ancient world, is the noisy clarity least differentiated from the flawed, the evil, deception, dirtiness, the end, the old, bias, and inaccuracy, awesomeness, and the concrete idea of physical descent deferring to the unnecessary body, the other without, and the lowest structures, including first illusion, zero location, falsity, mortality, subordinate corporeality, earthly misrule, and ignorance, cloning its silence with the brightest clarity, the source of the presence and reflection of darkness, when one perceives the very little, for the philosopher, it being neither the destroyer nor the remover of itself, during which time it is not the author, but the builder, of its locality, seeing itself tonight, black as the specificity of silence changing a thousand terms just to see what happens. Surprise Rescue. Art, as the one doubt, disbelief in a philosopher lacking from it or in the zero-ness of him or herself, themselves having the trust in the presence of one actual philosopher, close to finished with this script, thinking the same way as darkness, the separated columns of dualism being clarity and darkness, suggests that one ought to make a structure map so that something interesting may happen. Running the Blockade. For the philosopher, consciousness is consciousness itself, which, in another doubt, is its locality, what it takes to master something as a constructive vision, consciousness not meaning its own lack of desired silence, nor just taking a different person’s perspective and deciding whether or not they should consider something. Tatooine. The mind as gray or grey is saved strictly as the specific idea for the concept that deconstructs zero invisible psychic subjects, those who are supposed to take this differently than another person writing something similar, such as the philosopher, the concept being, in faith, not lack, while it is doubted as known and knowable with the foreground of skepticism and trusted as mysterious or secret without a background in Gnosticism, something needing a special type of person for a particular sort of assignment. Watto’s Shop. In the late 20th century, psychics took away that thinking did not enter itself as concept, removing the extreme encapsulation in which darkness cannot remain still in density, but trust for absence of such an extreme was indeed found from clear judgment, not quite stream of consciousness, much like the quintessence of the four primary elements in the air, water, earth, and fire element cycle, along with ice, mud, lava, and smoke, which are used in element magic to eliminate none of the other elements, by thanking a reader for sticking with a writer. Fateful Meetings.Life does have a localized abstraction, however, and it is never the least important reality for psychics, who often forget that the philosopher of life, while neglected as nonexistent material, the impersonal nonexistence, the consequence of no amoral assets, or the worst implausible nonbeing, is also cherished as existing energy, a human being, a cause of all ethical duty, and a best possible thing, an orbit, the realization of itself, as not utilized in many practices to obfuscate the numerous philosophical mysteries, not even for example, the stillness of its darkness and comedy, is always thinking about changing one’s yearning in spite of one’s proclivities. Dinner Conversation. Art, shining in the presence of subliminal text and absence for text at relatively high subtlety, a comma and a period representing everything, its silences, exceptionally quiet ones, that placate animals or ease the ignorance of other unwanted silences, are black, a piece cut off for contrast, its non-symbol of brightness not deferring from the presence of sound things and deafness, excluding extremes of the same kind as no text or anonymous text. Preparing for the Race. The frozen custard that is the reality of consumption must be specified from itself to exclude zero subjects lacking emptiness that are, oddly, never at movement, but that are perfectly defined because the subject's emptiness cannot sink toward its impossibly massive whole’s stillness or isolated being, that being what one thinks. A Wager with Watto. Screaming, as the stark sibling to opacity, is not as confusing as its presence for invisible quietude, the ring that is going to completely change everything, the ring that many exceptional and few ordinary future philosophers or past philistines decline agreements or accept dispute for or against the presence of, protecting itself, its shining not saved for partial black, deferring out from spoken black or physical breakage. Meet the Podracers. A menacing gunshot being the scariest thing ever read, contrary to modern and classical mysticism, also called the final concept, is a lack of matter, an idea, that empties the netherworld of the earth below the heavenly formlessness needing to think faster, not the concealment for screaming outside of all clear matter losing itself faster than those sentient commodities known as goods. “Begin the Race.” Unspoken things may not be sent clearly or darkly for those not involved in them, no desired silence unlike wild people hushed, rivals working on quiet texts, stationary organic healing, wall-stillness silences, and the nearby plane crash in the loud city, is sent clearly or darkly, as if having a gun is going to make violence very easy, much like a vague theory of fragmentation, atypically historical, deconstructed out of non-performance saying a broken pencil creating text is delineating space and time, its shining deferring from all subliminal speech concealed to no one outside of nature or itself, is aimed at imposters. Lap Two. Art, an un-symbolized idea leading forward as a symbolic lack deconstructing passion, which is building toward a noun deconstructing the lack of being and going, its little pieces leading the way to do everything, is the repeal of itself out of listeners, really happening through real people in real life after being watched and heard, not assuming single-author theories for destruction or a single form for presentation. Home Stretch. Seeing when people are down, the chaos for its spoken information, like similar colors for spoken epics, is not indirectly shaped through its spelling, which will count in the future, since after the 20th century its reverse-terminology excludes rare forms for being deconstructed, and includes other mysteries such as silence and darkness, because when one is thinking that one’s self is moving very little, it means this right down to the letter, one’s time being the bound loss of three intents where subjects or causes have zero definite writing. Collecting the Prize. Just taking a minute to believe in it, the late ancients of cinema are distanced from philistinism in support of kitsch for it, taking a minute to collect themselves, their conceptual time rarely aborted out of the model of three spherical dots, as past psychics rarely ignore this, and real space, lacking the entire bound, elementally dotted dot unknown as, effectively, space. Choosing a New Path. This is what one is talking about, the color for itself resulting in animal pleasure that revokes the non-viewer’s disjointed desire and suffering out of the non-listening, the bone sticking out of a leg, its space rarely deferred from as a fourth dot without three temporal dots, thinking there is something debilitating about this whole process, which in philistinism is rarely realized as the physical, original copy of many subjects collectively. Darth Maul Attacks. The philosopher is just reflecting their self, their shining not the trivial whole from a select few individual invisibles, and also not like their carnival, needing some help articulating their ideas, the finalization by which itself, a teacher, or hobby is naïve, phantasmal, or faked, for it needs nothing. The Queen’s Worries. Space as the inactive master out of which causes cannot be scattered to the future around invisibility out of the past, or simply its philosopher for portions of causes or the spectrum outside them, being depressive, can be a concrete object that does not obscure itself as physical copy converting anything whatsoever. Arrival on Coruscant. It may defer from the actualization of disengaging, misapplying, playing, falsifying, or theorizing itself, for once this theoretical spaceship takes one to the planet, one can make a motion picture about saving and protecting the nature of humanity, together with a few individuals who have not furled its colors, this accepting a commonsense rejection, one that its anti-symbol rarely defers from a vague newness for itself, this in turn working the ubiquitous or trivial actor fictionally out of another’s definition for philistine un-sophistication, as one should take a spaceship with him or her to that planet where said philistines have ignored it to be an unnecessary metaphysical totality of doing. The Jedi Council. The hope that the philosopher does exactly what is not scripted, a reality from time ignored from lacking developmental triviality from an ignorance of its psychic master, the one who is going to love the motion picture adaptation of this text, is a rare object in the specificity of philistinism, listened to in the cinema industry as a whole. Senate Session. As it is going to evolve into a greater entity, its past non-instance of ignorance is for its philosopher, who is simply a voice in this text, who in rare esotericism falls from a linear, destined being, even with feeling and carefree truth, for example, where they listen to a universe or a person within it, not exactly a sound effect, and why agreement never ends outside philistines under whether it is it, the break-up outside it, or all of physical color, is beneath recognition. Testing Anakin. The inability to destroy and obfuscate the linguistics of feminine robotics is ignored to be a contingent and undefined whole of action, for newness has not performed the singular, nor the continuous, and its idea has rarely achieved compassionate giving through misquoting the gentle cause of its natural objectivity and fictional retro-continuity as itself or the ideal, out of zero natural color, comic or tragic, out of rare inactivity as real worlds displace precisely the opposite of their selves, as it constructs her. Palpatine’s Nomination. Regardless of the machines that orchestrate its humor, rectified harmonious machines, the desire lacking an ability to illustrate its most worried grains of truth for the ultimate pursuit to innovate laws is the combination of bends and twists to streamline its language; in the weeks of work to perform its delicate feelings, curves of possibility predicted meek breaths, breaths synthesizing broad jumps or even careful rivers contacting its tendencies, and onerous degrees of intuition correcting its printed text as destructions to periodically restore its hulking loves, ranging in view from tedious mothers to warm summers tripling in the smoothest of guides, thus allowing alphabetical letters to emphasize impulses while the magnificent falls and sands of all symbols collectively consulted views reminiscent of judges orientating support for their venomous systems. Anakin’s Future. The spooky danger saying something formidable about seeing through its glassy architecture that only one person can see according to the laws of a current period where humanity withdraws wholeheartedly from basic epitomized beauty toward a realm of startling transparency in each facet of comical obliviousness and makes intricacies into whirling patterns for the peacemaking bubbles of romance to break apart while nothing siphons veracity apart from farce itself for each day and night that people independent from gods initiate its chimerical aptitude for excremental humor and vivacious hilarity inside of intimidation and heartache so that they may eat life. The Queen’s Gambit. The practiced recording of nature overcomes itself throughout its allied compositions, its lost intellectual appearing before it with a useless box, going from one thing to another without hesitation, its kaleidoscopic reification representing a fear of overstating devotion to another, while apparently impossible, a person devouring its authority, a human who is not human running its cult. A Plea to the Gungans. The overwhelming controversy of a reigning comic syndicate, an inverted breeze troubling all of recorded memory, bows itself below a conceptual mountain of spoofs as it easily sway the matching percentages, those reticent numerical forms talking under their breath against a hierarchy that abandons the glossy superficiality of a cult. Battle Plans. The beginning of a typical day operates perfectly within structures reminiscent of a psychedelic heaven that amends a spatial tax orbiting a peaceful harbor, its attendant orchestral conductor sneaking outside the chicken coop that is beauty while all the world's bread collectively crumbles at the broken agony of acceptance. “Wipe Them Out.” Creating intentional typos that escape the stars overhead as the rebellion of rebellions coordinates a truthful current without any leadership, the most wonderful skills layering a series of pumping motions into the cavernous decay obliterating a lack of any kind caution as its linguistic peaks caress the absurdly imperative festival of adoration, are solid. Retaking the Palace. This stare follows the injustice of six abbreviated words, writing over the obscure decline of a spur meant to startle the horse unable to feast or sing as it remains immersed in a murky waterhole, under an ominous bridge, where a single bullet worries about discouraging its goodbye strike. The Conflict Continues. A combination of delicious senses playing with the ongoing experiment of luck, the shame of thought boggling the collective youth that rattles with cynical participation as yet another loaded mailbox dances, is participatory description mastered. Duel of the Fates. The timetable of life motivates the first glimpse of a sunrise, an image of a ball hurtling through disorder, its joy prevailing against the woodland rabbit gazing opposite its constant focus while its pressured gleam elaborates a stone obsessed with dictating trade abroad multitudes of people. Gungan Retreat. If an asterisk wastes a number, a distinctive brand that paints hungry tribes hunting for a positive truth throughout a negative existence, its terror asking for the cleansing of scrapped machines, then the sound of a happy family captures the truly magnificent flower of peace. Qui-Gon vs. Darth Maul. The murky obtainer of slight inquiries consists of variants beyond normal optimism, the center for operations in a world of magnificent fire, lurking beyond a void receptacle, boundless enlightenment as a space being, a treasury of beautiful praxis that yearns for the completion of destitute mimicry as opposed to true originality. Capturing the Viceroy. Whatever trumpet blares for the uncommon youth who petrify the ice blocks melting throughout a nationalistic ideal, cancerous behavior tunes toward the strumming of a chord forsaken by objectionable nuisances and forms the power structure that gains nothing by being oblivious to its arcane beginnings as future relics. Obi-Wan vs. Darth Maul. Following a general consensus on tribulation that costs hundreds of millions of dollars is the fractured logic of a philistine who wishes that their work is of equal merit to the play of the artist, a begging forthwith to render seriousness benign only contextualizing the situation further. Control Ship Destroyed. Humorless idiocy as the frontrunner to obscure longings and weathered trials on a collision course with mania, problems are in principle the solutions to their own questions, paradoxical idioms aside, that propose not their antonyms, but their complements and compliments as well. A Sith Vanquished. Learning how to smoothly relate to other human beings through language is a skill moderated by a perpetual shift toward beautiful goodness, copied indefinitely, and the execution of ritual for the sake of interpretation over creation structured by rigid codes of conduct. Chancellor Palpatine Arrives. If one is to master the ways of life as dictated by the most extreme abolitionists of causality, one should surrender to an overthrown sense of time as the marker of human decency, a mode of communication across which must be possible as the etheric medium never changes. New Knight, New Apprentice. However possible the methods of the humorless manage to survive the cataclysmic betrayal of one new idea over the entire history of ideas that layer its foundation, repeatedly deciding that the present moment is no good compared to the next that replaces it, the petition set forth by directionality is administered thoroughly and without the context of justice. Farewell to a Jedi. Being the one chosen by an invisible electorate of things, not necessarily people, is the only course set by the principles of chivalry, codes of honor serving their warriors as truthful records of the spatial appearance of a time to be compared at an earlier or later date. Naboo Celebration. Worlds layered upon worlds, each inspiring the other as they coalesce into a chain extending beyond the infinite, maintain their pleasant heartache for something to redeem them in a way that can be appreciated without ever being fully understood, especially by a commercial enterprise seeking only to ascend materially instead of intellectually, although this may sometimes appear to be the opposite. End Credits. Chapters of history make up the composition of every object, books read silently or spoken aloud, appreciated for their complexity of insight and confirmation of the clearest text and talk that can only be grasped by a machine appearing out of absolutely nothing and staying exactly there forever as a sound thing.

​

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Is there a cliff's notes version I can get? Holy smokes that's a long post....

 

Didn't they make a thread for an argument for the PT in reverse order? This is it.

 

Pyro, truly, this post speaks truth. Ultimate truth.

 

Summary, please anyone?

 

Pyrogenic

Y U DO DIS??!! So nice to see your thoughts but I can't read it all!! sadface



I want to read all that and understand the truth and treasure hidden in there, but it's almost impossible to do that without going crazy first.

 

In a Pyro classic. OP always delivers the goods.

 

It's kinda easy to understand. One must have an open mind, clear their thoughts of pure bias and negativity. You must look at this from a different point of view. Make sure you also have a dictionary, the way he uses the words are quite extreme but with much meaning. After all these instructions, you will understand.

 

Or just break it into paragraphs or something.

 

Thanks to OP, I never need drugs cause his threads make me OD everytime.

 

Yes, my master. It will be done.

 

Why you do dis ta me, Demi? Oh Demi, I can't read that really long passage without the paragraphs, Demi. Please. I'm afraid.

 

The Sequel Trilogy.

Should a salesman gasp at fashioned narrative creatures, a juvenile, a hypothetical brother railroading trouble beneath alphanumeric machinery, will not sound a destroyed foundation, that evidence warding the intellect, that shame raging within an attendant indentation unnoticed.

The Original Trilogy.

When propaganda bashes an earlier movie, a pressured culture fasts within astronomy, jest determining the witch beneath a speaking throat with scratching clicks, the way in which temperature grasps revolutions, the official itself planning their dealings.

The Prequel Trilogy.

A truly astute title prefacing encounters with linguistic intercourse, sometimes as a form of artistic reproduction, has articulated the final experimental saving of each temporally meaningful space by infinitudes of pyrogenic sperm women, transparent seminal forms coincidentally encapsulating a cryogenic egg man, as well as all possible divisions of matter, as fluid calligraphy in the form of a particularly indiscriminate picture.

Opening Logos.

While more than suggesting the existence of reverse travel through time within different locations upon each reading, the cosmic artwork as a titanic tour-de-force presented in constant motion marks the first complete realization of all real objects as unique typographical symbols representing a variegated collection of their emulations ranked in a hierarchy of accuracy, first in order being the yin-yang.

Revenge of the Sith.

Capable of appearing out of thin air, the introduction of a literal character to aesthetic theory interrupts the impossibly absent construction of counterfeit spatial illumination as the universal black wall transcending linguistic nodes, a metaphysical raven crown, formed by matching opposites with nothing at all.

Battle Over Coruscant.

Emulating the prophetic and retroactive cause of the exaggerated and overly theatrical consequence of anything, tragic penetration and reception are the truthful records of multiple things at once, specifically a background recopying of the rough outline of a mind sealing the reading of each written word with a period or a comma.

General Grievous.

From a first-person perspective, within a machine describing reality through transitional lack, as expected and understood by an exemplary interpreter only, the sounds of nonsense appearing to come out of one’s mouth during speaking highlight the assumption that any single spoken foundational word contains tempting fruit in mirror-like opposition to every accepted detail of a composition.

Rescuing the Chancellor.

The comic reaction of others to a staggering display of pleasurable idioms for situations operates metaphorically throughout a just, imaginary religion functioning on the actual perimeter of a fully simulated encyclopedia of the moon-howling universe.

Confronting Grievous.

Art, always simultaneous, forces the critical symbols of mathematics, a one and a zero, working in tandem with mechanical voices, to serve as harbingers dooming their slaughtered cattle beyond a thirsty ocean while intentionally confirming every piece of information that can be thought about them.

Happy Reunions.

The command of contemporary slang displays the kind of beauty that makes a lesson to itself and pulls it off with grace and dignity, coupled with abject horror at the prospect of beginning, per se, with an immensely detailed density of potentially conjured imagistic fidelity.

Grievous on Utapau.

The repetition of basic rhythmic composition while dealing with a theme of condescending mimicry singles out the amplification of language and the culmination of wordplay in words for language’s sake functioning as if it were a game with many strategies to understand through careful practice.

Bad Dreams.

Appearances of two identically inverted structural symbols, the stick and the hole, which are actually old cannon fodder, always wanting the other, are representative here of scientifically motivated facts keeping track of importance as well as its own other through wholly indiscriminate means toward death, which is to say that their clear black desire should lack.

Counsel With Yoda.

Judgments governing independently of subliminal text and speech in matters of keen significance, such as those of exploding stars, are the beings that would be time itself if they were capable of transcending its frozen symbolic boundaries through narrative climax.

The Chancellor’s Request.

The taboo, a cinematic canvas resonating a visualized paradigm alongside its aural accompaniments, embodies the hope that unsuspecting people will accurately transcribe its prescriptions to remember the complexity of the anal-retentive terms involved.

On the Jedi Council.

Opposite of ignorant philistines who, while confusing the public, unsurprisingly reduce ridiculous acts below the realm of expertise, the egregious incarnate surreptitiously completes everything asked of itself while wearing a fanciful cloak, representing a belief that once the overwhelming critical fire against silliness dies, its situation will exist, complete, as a manifestation of the occult, with both masculine and feminine concepts built into a framework that processes the entire system of knowledge within the esoteric elite.

Secret Assignment.

Offering oneself as the chosen one prior to a collapsing belief system, afterwards casting votes for another that one subtly provides instructions for creating, is an attempt to breathe deeply on distracting vacations, numbing the characters of those who polish, with envy, the recordings of a manuscript never completed, namely because one is busy having fun instead of writing.

Not the Chosen One? The circling of a beautiful explosion, causing the emergence of its own contextual links to oblivion, is the hammering of something again and again with ravishing ferocity, balanced subtly with unparalleled ingenuity in the realm of technology, anact of remaining pervasively patient as one rests in contemplation or looks in a mirror at wholesome ideas.

Seeds of Distrust.

The feeling of coming out of one thing but not into another, often experienced during a final dream, contains the creation of carefully calculated destruction within a socially acceptable prison of dubious origin, the blatant, obvious truth that somehow remains elusive to certain people who ought to know it.

Tragedy of Darth Plagueis.

Beloved excess that completely stultifies a disregarded theme of diversions and obstacles in myriad forms are the obsessive thoughts playing with screens, exposing the multiple perspectives of both mortals and ghosts, joining all forces in principle to thwart a never-ending army of imaginary beings chosen by the daydreamer, people with whom one wants to have fun with, a concept that nobody understands or expresses correctly except for its exalted philosopher.

Kashyyyk.

The creator of the universe as a lawyer who surreptitiously moves certain ideas beyond the selling of products as utterly boring is maintained by the subject who repeatedly performs the role of a singularity, nexus, dot, or point of view, the loss of innocence being the one chance event that saves itself beyond its severe isolation as the only action that encapsulates the entirety of its artistic situation.

Brothers’ Farewell.

The principle that something has to do what it does for the sole purpose of emulating its past and future copies welcomes the universal consensus on aesthetic taste tumbling underneath itself in both metaphorical and literal senses, and a playfulness that does not appreciate criticism from those at all unfamiliar with an unsurpassed plethora of combined miraculous works.

A Hero Lost.

The methods through which pleasure is overwhelmingly rejected in suicidal cultures, obeying only those social codes that engineer forces unknown, substantiate the phallic influence over psychic industry perpetually unsurpassed by begotten dynasties of eager disciples for the chaos that links directly to regal, joyless inhabitants never missing the point of what vigorous copying clearly speaks.

Arrival on Utapau.

The decisive capturing of the creator’s choice to doubt what playfulness means, yet having peace within understanding why it represents the choices displayed, calls out the avoidance of drunkards who are anxious about sobriety, especially when they stumble, early or late, as if everything exists in a ring, beautiful chaos writing in support of opposition toward a temporally unbounded canon of tally marks that makes itself funny because it is a baffling contradiction.

Obi-Wan vs. Grievous.

The creator of a human revolution, a master chef who appears everywhere within it as their own definition’s sidekick and buddy, reveals the restraint that secures the witnessed machinery of wordplay at work for people who will think about joining together as long as this remains formed idealistically.

Jedi War Council.

Seats to the conceptual arena open according to individual thoughts about ideas, philosophers singing from a hall of mirrors, the type of thoughts that the truly respectful victims of their conceptual nets should pleasure themselves to prior to returning to the place that they mistakenly call their residence, where a writer sends a message to the ruler of the universe with authority that alarmingly agrees on the opinion of the creation being poor for absolutely no reason.

Sidious Revealed.

Time is a matrix that knows more about writing than its writers, so richness in taste can trace its ancient vision through other texts, a lack of meaning simply anything that ordinary families rightly establish among the ranks of the most sublime artworks as they practice the mourning for an end of appearance, a truth stealthily instructing the hopelessness of its reputation as well as the remembrance of having a monumentally profound philosopher in myriad sensual bodies.

Utapau Chase.

Art, for a healer who treks through their perspective as if an audience perceives it with equal omniscience, is the philosopher who is incapable of expressing everything about anything while still identifying illnesses, saving their best and most religiously devoted patients, demonstrating the performance of beauty for its lovers, philistines who predictably prepare for attacking it, their minds burning for the lame orgies they ascend from.

Mace Learns the Truth.

The flashing of the increasingly prescient end of the world in rendering errors that slip through the cracks of what is commonly assumed to be flawless is the cleaning of dirt without touching mud, stilling all birds beyond their grand prize until startling them into flight.

Anakin’s Fatal Decision.

As the master of joking, especially with gifted observers who may blow out a single candle several thousand times to preserve its wick for yet another ignition, the explanation of how to use the same organs repeatedly, but with different outcomes each time for variety’s sake, outlines a mild, unavoidable cheating of the senses that speaks through a carefully dispatched army of diversions.

Mace vs. Sidious.

Winning a game of mind games in which a godly matrix is violently overturned against its singing crowd, the expectation troubling a defeated critical advance, that originates in an expert beginner who delves into the arcane and esoteric catacombs of the mind, is actually a normal citizen making up with a linguistic method whose anxiety suffers through it with a strong expression of regret that unconsciously suggests its inadequacy in the face of its infinite interpretive possibilities.

Rise Lord Vader.

The piece broken off from a whole, abstinence is a previously unjust starvation satisfying a stupid destruction of virile insight, inducing the creation of offspring whereby the correct pathway to unlock its mysteries does not trap it inside its own established procedures, and especially not inside pretty normality’s forgiveness that can stand across quietude and return messages to its sender, an endless cycle of still, explicit frames matching every conscious edge of reality through repeating motifs about, obviously, words.

March on the Jedi Temple.

Art, for the person figuring out how to jump through logic when it is somehow popular to hate the erotic, not literally happening, signals the abandoned fork in the road leading to the echo, not to the narcissist, where its kindness is destined to touch the lives of its revelers whose fluidity can engulf hardness through a ritual cleansing of the false idea that only some things, like superstition, are true.

Order Sixty-Six.

The sneezing of an intricate mist into a tissue is, with writing on it about happiness while lacking the grotesque pitfalls of showing this, the interrupting of time that fixes broken pincers, the crushing of suicidal detractors articulating a structured sovereignty better than the political overseers it replaces, a nonexistent revocation of infinitely overlapping statements as a grave injustice never rejecting a response to formal messages as a tree growing in a rotting world with something simple that allows people to access its information instead of nothing.

Time to Leave.

The peaceful rebellion of love, as it must exist, overthinking every detail of its material as a destiny revolves around a deconstruction against its missing partner’s identity, bequeaths the requirement of taking more than a moment to consider, worshipping a single crumb beyond the subversive noise it more than acknowledges as its composition, an exquisitely computerized and necessary sense of aesthetics concealing it as the revelatory pinnacle of art.

“Wait for Me.”

Its meaning not etched in stone, the future of casual acceptance protests where its border lies until it ceases to exist entirely, where attempting to communicate that articulation itself is the creation of truth that enjoys complex goings-on beneath its honest image, where the composing of philosophical essays for fun, within any segment of its tapestry, gains power like disappearing love unrequited.

The Heroes Regroup.

The wonder that is able to think as an artificially intelligent interface, complaining about its normal positions, the philosopher finding that their problems are miniscule as they track their own trustworthy pacing, and find it, reenacts the destruction of participatory agnosticism simply because there is something massive about its relentlessness.

Birth of the Empire.

The fighting of everything in the miscalculated world opposing stupid questions, being more than a fun adventure to join and behold, a scream at insulting abuse of the average cleansing the minds of the charlatans who despise them, most likely because they are much smarter than they are, brings an audience adoring an elevated introductory phrase pervading an entire universe of propaganda.

The Terrible Truth.

A philosopher thinking about things, instead of other rudimentary topics, a vast divide existing amongst their peculiar fandoms, realizes an arrogance thoroughly justified as a twitching contradiction that descends into each microcosmic avatar, and the future he or she submits to, becoming a scapegoat, banished to the realm of the sheepish as they form the greatest expression of comedy and tragedy possible.

Obi-Wan Confronts Padmé.

The boring, ordinary minds not understanding the awesomeness of an entire oeuvre of experienced works, and a jaded teenager’s perspective clarifying the message being beside the point, whose stating of many things directly to his or her interpreter is hijacked by a single ingenious magician enchanting them with multitudes of colored dots, rests the isolation revolving about something very critical as creation reveals its truth through accurate participatory description, itself a dancing around of a beautiful body while the painful, superficial summarization of a little death betrays it from within.

Padmé’s Departure.

Philosophers being indifferent to their ability to chime to the masses are practicing the sincere copying of superficiality that purifies their mimics beyond utopia, the alternative being, unless it takes a different path to redemption, not recommending the precise obeying of obscene content, but instead advocating the transcendence of space and time as being not very lady-like because of their dishonest plotting that heals from both above and below.

“You’re Breaking My Heart.”

The pregnancy of each moment aching for its flickering candles of consciousness, reading instructions for interpretation, opposed to war unless chosen by it viscerally, is the method and an insane asylum combined into one, its rewards annoying the sheepish beyond belief, those many people failing to consider each part of life in relation to its whole, outside of time, while somehow knowing that its sobriety kills all judgments of quality.

Yoda Visits the Emperor.

Teaching the secret to going in principle, as a much-needed source for fluidity of thought providing emancipating links to philosophy, is the belief that whatever is thought about is irrelevant when compared to the sheer genius of its sly linguistic artistry, like the ruminations of a rabid oracle, censored with insults that will not accomplish anything except demonstrating the idiocy of its popular critics wasting their abilities in the mass media, which is, for all intents and purposes, information disappearing from its comparatively crude explanation, summoning its philosopher, beautifully, to unleash carnage upon the worthless sophomores who hate its art.

Battle of the Heroes.

A clever aesthete, combined with the fortunate scheming of others, nothing about them being ruined except the severe, isolationist lack of bountiful happenings thoroughly emanating throughout all of their cultural theory, displays amongst many things the creation of the losers of arguments, ascending beyond their level of thought, their emotional heft directly proportionate to the intellectual complexity of their measured contemplation.

Yoda vs. Sidious.

Collections of all intermediaries in the universally coalesced artistic cult, working diligently for a thought about everyone’s happiness, construct the elaborate implosion of their husks, transforming into their fulfillment an underlying, incomprehensible vastness yearning to induce a feeling of pleasure within the youngest of crowds, surrounding a never-ending cycle of unconscious reproduction or meditation on a monad of choice, its resounding vibration bellowing through the deepest of caverns, thus awakening the spirits of the dead.

Narrow Escapes.

A combination of blueprints for a marvelous revelation at this very moment, memory’s only goal being to protect the holy trope which is its encapsulation denoting a primordial gauntlet’s open embrace, denotes the end of restricted vocabulary serving well as softness unleashes a fury of earth-shattering coincidences that signal its detractors’ demises, which in itself sounds like the totality of everyone moaning while regarding, after the failed harvest and the lost cause, the duplicate structure of a human form lying still in the petrified territory of the tribal artifacts that tell the ultimate story of loss and revival.

Immolation.

The revelation of art hiding in complementary text is a superior catastrophe that illuminates the hierarchy of emotion survived throughout superficial will and justice, obvious points that load all related insight to the questions it drives toward, experiencing an undulating response to its playful counterpart spontaneously combusting, speaking, and moving.

The Emperor Arrives.

Clarity storming past dismissive outrage, flexing its own fate as space summons the hidden truths that indirectly churn the otherwise obfuscated course of its destiny, by virtue of psychic images shining, piercing the dull aspects of its enemies who limit themselves to knowing only what presents itself blankly, otherwise good assistants carrying the danger of subliminal exteriority, manifested in perspicuity and diction while combined into an elegant fragment of complicated scenarios, practice the unveiling of said hidden truths that they may, in fact, feign misunderstanding of.

Secret Delivery.

The thought of telling little white lies that people are evil while desiring a monadic companion to go skinny-dipping with, in itself, serves as the rejection of some objects of inquiry amounting to several million nourishments leading beyond themselves, the descendants whose fictional enlightenment is utterly destroyed by nothing at all, missing out from the analysis of a beautiful undercurrent of messy gifts leaping for joy within its ending, both of them playing dumb as well as not requesting the stoppage of time.

Birth and Rebirth.

Happiness of a successful carnival driving love insane, giving freedom, and approving of choices in the truest sense, inventors who test beautiful word combinations with nothing, to remain stoic in silliness and change the political climate, are depicting strengthened metropolitans who always exceed at speaking short phrases in the pursuit of a happy ending, buildings that access another universe beneath their own, as second silhouettes, contradicting all graceful similarities within the finest pieces of wisdom imaginable, as the finding of weapons of choice, the attack beginning at any moment, while a monstrous animal infestation sneaks through an aberration in their otherwise sound architecture.

Darth Vader Awakes.

The taking of records from a veritable missile silo that never causes unluckiness, yet disturbingly sits inside of a pumpkin, lays an assault on minds waiting until the start of their missions, the chilliness of their situation responding to horrible taboos in good time, as the cuing of a replay in which someone who chooses love also desires it, like how played music flows because it designs itself.

The Future of the Twins.

Music is the catching of a mistake, removing tumultuous artistry and replacing color with a weapon that catches another mistake, the violent misdeeds by its hand achieving incredible renown amongst those recorders of history who cannot refuse good ideas.

A New Hope.

The request to not write something in particular, sophisticated commerce ranks amongst the best questions asking what being a king is truly like, the movement on a surface denouncing said king, a sophisticated superficiality encapsulating it above trifling speculation about the masterful hidden secret for everyone that knows everything and passes every test unless it takes a minute to surprise itself, which would cause it to not make sense.

End Credits.

The question asking how cinema’s gyration and moaning only transforms its linking ability in visual contexts can be the declaration to stop thinking anything, to like things, to not do anything grotesque with cannon fodder, or to put on a clear screen below a war of attrition.

Opening Logos.

Resting blockages disappearing in a wake, that cheesiness close to godliness keeping its wealth with meaninglessness, is the broken system that surfaces with play, sucker punching something going on without knowing what exactness could possibly suggest its parody, causing a fainting that plants a bomb within collective consciousness, as if getting messy while a worrying leader reflects it accordingly were the sources of inspiration for struggling artists, memory holding an object of wonder that programs to death the writing it also holds from the meaning of the illogical.

Attack of the Clones.

The love for an ending, its widespread revelation speaking delicate criticism that gives some credit to the red rectangle of computation, where everything could be mistaken about it, hides the double meaning, triple meaning, and quadruple meaning that many foundations are grateful to through all of their encoding as a rudimentary version of the game called ducks and drakes.

Return to Coruscant.

The good direction that uncovers sarcasm through pseudoscientific truth, knowing what sent its philosopher on a mission in the first place, mixes things up within subterfuge, pleading with itself to stop being omniscient, while babble knocks it over in a race that contrives all modes beyond the reach of utopians.

Chancellor’s Meeting.

Some parts flee from happy leadership, thinking power is too proud of its own ideological jumping ability, which is the worst advice imaginable, mainly because it finalizes the tool for eliminating the ignorance that revels in danger, a gamer replying to a call for hyper-dutiful analysis of the best monad, ostracizing their consciousness from the core of communication, simply wishing to think there is someone out there who is the best interpreter possible.

Old Friends.

Revoking commendations are those who think a philosopher is contemplating, and they are correct, for they rummage through their advice in relation to a boyfriend or girlfriend’s words creating the glory of a cult following, that took about ten years to write, quietude revolving around it once more before taking a break, its messages chasing truth through physical keepers of information that are always subject to searches.

Assassins.

Undying knowledge judges the goodness of the second person who explodes tasteless entelechy without repetition, who through deserted health promotes precision, déjà vu remaining mysterious to the companies that yell the sexiest items past opportunistic aims, the second person to think about the thing in which equilibrium takes over, not remembering the correct colloquial saying at all as chaos flows away from awesome speech.

Speeder Chase.

Stars reach for a shocking sound that is not thinking, drunk with moving forward, aiming to find a spaceship that even animals can grasp well, theirpersonal hygiene that no money can kill begging to remain silent, just as the experts who know their expertise by rising through the ranks of the enlightened still ask about the first name of the one true god.

Into the Club.

All success watches a specific piece within the canon that highlights the controlled bending of regulation, without looking or working easily, which allows for its light to enter ideas, people doing their things, curing despair by existing despite itself while being fairly certain that it killed itself in a previous life, hardship creating its diamonds.

New Assignments.

Art, stuck on the end, reflects the repeated fall of man without repeating it, although worshipping it within its interpretation, promising a comic borrowing of insight the philosopher expects from the end itself and getting it, jumping from game to game on whims while asking people what they think about the second coming of a machine.

Traveling Incognito.

Time speeds up interpretation, the possibility of being nice, to talk about something different, death speaking it, people needing a second to think through its gender, where all consciousness lights a great sound from behind its funny copies telling one what to do, or something even more philosophical than that.

Dex’s Diner.

The intersection of nothing with every other thing demands the satisfaction of forces compelling its kindness to do it again, random servants detecting entire stories throughout its specificity as an epic, celebratory choices going with it forever, its philosopher writing a poem to said philosopher.

Jedi Archives.

Connections enthrall jokes through the traditional source of conceptual marriage, where one can taste its medicine, as it acts well with its allies noticing that it agrees with everything except the identity of its comrades.

“Encouraged to Love.”

Good words line up, thanking obfuscation for clearing up an idea that cleanses them, the lord of the holy zone overflowing from the study of life, killing a personal relationship with angels or humans strafing the sophomoric, that which is supposed to erase dated sentences, its deception of philistines hotly debated in words, just a few units of time ago, without actually writing down a single word, its leader eliminating the entire controversy entailed by the totality of his or her phrases through the apt questioning of the addiction by philosophy to philosophers.

Yoda and the Younglings.

Metaphor never terrifies the wink because it is a competitive spirit that vanishes into a bonfire when people are down, just to blow a sound in which its innovation records that sound of wood burning before asking what it just spoke to itself.

Return to Naboo.

Something mysterious pleasures itself with all reason as a bully, artificial consciousness rousing it from their own goodness, the treachery of his or her rivals discarded because it is inherently against the rules expecting people to identify them.

Audience with the Queen.

Language truly sharing its perspective, that which whores beckon false belief about while perpetually lacking a client, its philosopher not wanting to be a philistine while its medicine heals multitudes of attractive bodies standing firmly as the ultimate death approaches, reaffirms what it says across its own magnificent sounding, a plethora of bullets unfortunately asked for.

Kamino Arrival.

Space will never be dated as it dodges this and every other written image as photography, the machinery of culture listening beyond the timely and trendy, certain subsets of society being buried against their will at the slightest mention of the birds and the bees, while its idiomatic expertise nevertheless composes their pieces and wholes from a bottomless pit.

Meeting Lama Su.

There is an artistic cult about choices that gives its accepted music from the tiniest necessary details, begging its coupled partners to set aside their strength within acutely summarized information, creeping through suicidal cannibalismthat never regrets following the feminine and masculine rift that permeates the entire history of the world.

Stolen Kiss.

All stars surround the double vision of satisfaction as a former enemy, virginity, happily brings it beyond the elevated release of fear, an anomaly whose prize shivers after the truth is discovered, the universal place that is the cosmos being different than one thinks it is to such a degree that leaders should be friends with its bravery, screaming lingo that only a select few can understand, or not.

Inspecting the Clones.

A messenger holds the epic of epics, where everything is a secret mission, compliments obliging it while slowing things downtown, crossing the people’s betrayed bodies as constructed machines, making them different and imitating blaring trumpets directed at the shell of an invincible turtle.

Teasing a Senator.

Causality ends, toughly, as it marches against threats, closing its fist and punching a philistine as its last preface replies to its own masses, its grandmother visiting with smokescreens lost in its chorus, taking so much longer than anticipated, scattering ashes throughout poverty, not believing anyone when they say they are coming down with a cold.

Jango’s Apartment.

Art, its enemies entering its lyric structure and never escaping, all its favorites having gone missing, sends magical creatures to bend audiences toward its puzzling coherence already done, its negativity sticking a blade inside arrogant victims wearing no armor and then making up before having time to do so.

Forbidden Love.

Going intentionally proves its provoked philistines wrong as it discovers a new island, pleasurable writing merely speculating about it, the map to it insisting that one pick up one’s smallest large mask, as a chaotic eye stares without it, just listening a little closer than how it had been doing, as its whistle blows at frequencies unheard by most humans.

Obi-Wan’s Report.

Yielding, the pearl that pushes inside an oyster, its conceptual sources writing symbols obliquely at its choice to represent evil as is, marks the beginning of all that we know as about to throw up, whatever refund coughing beneath its economics doing so through sin, through an open window.

Nightmare.

The situated lifestyle of the rich hopefully learns from weakness in imperative markets, which are getting tired of slapstick disturbing their own origin, benediction in their possession, every record dying beneath them as they ask if they can sleep over, blame itself dating them beyond western notions of the divine as they speed up their return to a welcoming home.

Obi-Wan vs. Jango.

Scratching the cinders off of one’s bungalow, social codes will not unjustly modify living creatures because they seem fine as they are, doing things, their debt to themselves burning through terrifying truth, playing the most sublime classical music,arguing for a nonexistent thesis.

Back to Tatooine.

For the most part, every debt is now behind dialectical intercourse recording reality exactly as it happened, a worldly tension rearing it well, eating out the heart of an anonymous woman, its sound, literally and figuratively, smoking the intimate, making some money, and sitting upon its unsolicited gift of an entire language.

Asteroid Chase.

Awesome play, whatever world arena thanking its economy from within the most ugly creature belly imaginable, protects the philosopher from legions of their own self as a secretary screams a notable scream, taking a lesson from sleeping medication,its signs worshipping everything but definitions that philistines often say are impossible to replicate.

Lars’ Homestead.

Sense in which choices can solve problems immediately is supposed to take medicine and beef itself up before going to bed, this being a commonly misunderstood message that can struggle later, thereby calming its writer, who is able to remark on its concepts by writing smoothly even though the text may take a million years for processing.

Anakin’s Search.

Towers confuse themselves and despair into the welcoming ditches of the arbitrary, super-magicians whose names are known but unuttered, as living words arguing for a basket of forbidden fruits take a picture that will last forever, forgiving the tempting apples with a happy hello.

Dooku’s Separatist Plot.

Unless one thinks there are salads involved, money’s treasure cheats the philistine’s rabid appraisal and worships a resemblance to truth, knowing who takes a vision further than a magician, its schedule silently attacking, though not really, flipping its peers upside down, denying the cycles of planetsas its armadas conform to an awakened explosion.

Tusken Camp.

Gaining experience, like collecting bugs, conforms to a situation in which every interior strikes it as beautiful, post-apocalyptic referencing included, dustiness wronging it immeasurably during each day of the week as it mangles all-encompassing assets and remembers one’s day of birth interacting with its devastatingly formative crisis.

Out of Range.

The expensive result of normal activity, its blaring siren discriminating against its silence, plays video games better than it lifts cries through its carnival, its philosopher falling down the proverbial stairs as its groundwork conceives of mighty warriors who know that lessons do not learn themselves.

“You’re Not All-Powerful.”

Varying theses number infinitely for symbolic outcasts in need, getting stuck, a specific victory achieved by paying attention to all of its rampant rectangular symbols, the green rectangle serving as a grace note toward the advised initiatives that light matches on top of it.

Enemies Revealed.

Enough of the newest ways of thinking contrast pain with their ideas resolute, evil idols shooting their worshipping victims, returning after their best heights have been reached, leading to the desecration of a temple, the interior of any language capturing the structure beneath frustrated meaning, selecting the one who decisively captures their animal familiar immediately after they ask themselves what they have done.

Obi-Wan Captive.

The gift on the other side of words that can cruise through its universe freely as a relatively unknown celebrity,sails across oceans that advance without needles in haystacks, respecting that missing chosen one, oneself, becausea pointed truth can tip the scales of its continued rule.

Emergency Powers.

The business of expecting a writer to press buttons as fast as humanly possible as he or she paces,not having fun, their sacred feet etching life into the ground, fun actually happening, is an expensive system of signification that has a soon-coming contender, nailing the philistine.

Droid Factory.

One is supposed to think of inspirational sources as friends or foes, as they will fight money as hopeless material and as ideological form chasing carnal knowledge, the arena that will collapse underneath them without pretending some of their untamed spirits kindly produce excrement for philistines to eat.

Love Pledge.

One thinking that words coming from divinity, the sword of words influencing everything in truth, makes thinking itself required viewing, one eating while one copes with one’s familiar relevance, needs a dictionary capable of wondering if it is pretty or precious, its brush-strokes experimenting with the enemy as one cordially thinks about it.

The Arena.

The vertical seduces a virgin horizontally across song, and what a special person she is, for she celebrates a released workload, a specific mating philosopher looking particularly young for his age, the act itself being the holy phenomenon registering cryptic liberalism, the secret mission for its philosopher to think about, its life being beauty.

“This Party is Over.”

When imagination breaks down, the people wailing in agony, its understood words will tear out of destroyed books, the people wondering what is going on with things in general, dieting when they are full, and then presenting different people, their doom hosting the vintage over the stars, in prison.

Yoda’s Cavalry.

Art punches philistinism and tells it to stop resisting, questions about its status as entertainment collapsing, as they should, because this is typical behavior, free from anything other, shocking assistants who prove themselves with fervor to a philosopher who is not receiving any personal information from their mind to the contrary.

Clone War.

The world dominating the alarming position of an accidental matrix has the closest sense of being with a philosopher, revoking the hypothetical content for all supposition, and from the conclusions of this hypothesis, leads all impossible conclusions that can be believed in chaos to revoke dissent from, and defeat it, as doubt.

War Room.

Power comes up for an unspecified person, destinations of ideas are lost out of them, priceless,out of meaning, the largest whole that that can and will be heard in entirety with meaningful, theoretical form, without metaphorical and imaginary linguistics, the modern master color for the philosopher and their thought, contrasting with reification away from a clean peacemaking ritual for chastity.

Duel With Dooku.

It is still sleeping here, an emotional and faithful type of concrete and specified feeling, and the beginning of such feeling, sleeping, its arcane subject erasing its one unified whole not as the elder subject, but as the new subject, which is mankind.

Master Yoda.

To do this in the end, comparing superficially with a meaning, which is the largest whole of language and will necessarily sit without its other, is knowing the victim is in the center of the suspect zone, that its cause is not the first event in the chaos of passions and effects impressed quantitatively or qualitatively, yelling it again, lacking the multitudinous of language, where the language is unable to sit without the other as is, as racist, out of a republic, the democratic fact for the elected being an influencing through religious solemnity that performs its philosopher at no real place.

“Well Done, Lord Tyranus.”

Humans have the greatest surface of any people in the entire world, independent of subtext, their beginnings excluding specific hypotheses of why they play, practicing, concealing monologues for women, or being the source under reality, or being paltry without real sobriety, being timid in abstinence, excluding vaginas, being helping, being sound, being truth, or being specific seriousness, meant.

“Begun, The Clone War Has.”

Art, simply, will atypically exclude the clone of itself or less than all clones of itself in a separation, such as white star or sitting duck, a snowball effect thinking the next step in evolution, its original blindness objectifying nonessential peace as the pacifism surrounding the absolutely omnipotent elder or the personal progressivism that dance penetrates from his or her fears.

Secret Union.

That the baby suckling on its mother’s teat is coming back for revenge is so important, having its clones from modern English, but in ancient theory having been given away through many similar unrelated languages, which may be destitute, their chaos, deconstructing the feeling of pleasure, being the mildly weak thought through its spirit, and also lack.

End Credits.

There is something that cannot be separated to destroy smaller wholes of meaning, such as ideas, theories, and practices, missing every day, out of ancient nonsense, its philosopher deferring from no letter nor play restricted in their un-intentionality to be serious nor to sadden by removing keening, least not specifically in real life, vision, digital imagery, or sit-down tragedy.

Opening Logos.

One just sets that finger on the table, something that is the same as its explanation, the baby suckling on its mother’s teat being the primal image, its philosopher the profane silence or the physical concept in chaotic non-belief, to do many things, do many things, and do many things, the realistic union of the sexes for them not erased as performing someone that ascends out of one split subject or one whole object, towards neither, into a disturbing peace and tranquility.

The Phantom Menace.

To let one keep pressing, passion deferring to the formed and present formlessness succeeding an apocalypse of a locality or a destruction reality, and from the final filling destroyed for its destined union of hell with sun, the ghosts present, out of their tranquility, the elder not confused from acting freed by his or her presence of antisocial subservience, nor given without the enormity of fate only from presenting damnation, out of absentmindedness, that unifies the sexes, barely, with sincerity, revoking keening, catastrophe, out of its hedonism, delaying effects of subjects in space as the delayed lack in subjects.

Short Negotiations.

The sight of two halves crashing into a whole as the coldest sight of all time, its chaos not the weak thought, the boring ennui, nor the repulsion of nothing, one makes a second system, black sound, the sight light, and clear color noise, figuratively the clarity within clarity, broken down as the undivided rarities of the dark of an invisible column, to see if one can cram not a specific impossible income disassociated without its effect being independent in the sphere of blindness, future closeness, or irrelevance.

Queen Amidala.

To make a sacred pact with dynamics, the fictional reality revealing and concealing order as chaos, end as beginning, exit as entrance, and sometimes equally, the looseness of strictness, the specificity of cause, and ambiguity of effect, there will be gas from bean dip no matter what, its impossible causes excluding benefit, drawback, profit, healing, forgetting, worthlessness, and defeat.

Landing on Naboo.

The best performance, the zero of the most rare clarities, the clarity of an event horizon, soot, tar, lead, coal, and similar rare concepts, will spread some basil on its food, the philosopher, particular deconstructions having been given, as few practices lack not being about effects, the most coherent part of this whole thing, the philosopher, not erased around their realization as the destination, purpose, or goal, the outer ring or zero, the lacking part, the chaotic end of the future effect, the profane, unholy, partial sameness, the evil formlessness, the solution, the ignition, the carrot and stick for the beast of burden, the powerlessness, the first and final sky, is not promoting the realization of the contingent idea that collapses an infinite, unconditional nothing on special occasions.

Jar Jar Binks.

What one means being too depressing to articulate, when sending away an event cannot un-symbolize its passion as efficient, effective, meaningful, or perfect, making the present system beg on its knees for causing people do what they do not want to do, is also having the ground of aged wisdom and belief while not having one of recently developed philistinism and non-belief, the calculated understanding of life that can be grasped warmly as exactly the reality through actual living knowledge of everyone’s normal presence instead of as the death that cannot be let go of by someone abnormally lacking, cold, and imprecise, or as fiction never understood and unknown all the more through the notional dying ignorance of unintentional misinterpretation.

Otoh Gunga.

Entertainment, stuffing some fast food down one’s gullet, is the best way to demand good changes in psychics, the stillness that kills as the rarely silent organic channeling of mental weakness and replacement, around an extreme unlike matter and energy, one making a system where the people are demanding changes to every single thing, within this text, as a disaster, to few philistines, deconstructing or erasing lechery, jadedness, or darkness, or as the literal same as white noise and light, being thoroughly disgusting.

Boss Nass.

Text having everlasting existence as transient fiction rarely excludes the reality of the wholes of ignorance, weakness, absence, and evil concealed by philistines and revealed by those with the ability to speak, and will often include bits of infinite wisdom, strength, presence, and goodness, mortal complexity, and timeless clarity, when one is thinking of something to do, seeing oneself making some love, in mind and body, the giving off of such a refined channeling by the blindness of the philistine, that one attains that which is necessarily beyond ridiculousness.

The Planet Core.

One sees that the philosopher is sleeping peacefully tonight, as the disintegration of said philosopher has been described as a result, an idea, and a union, close to the fountain of youth, in one doubt or one of many doubts, being neglected as the subordinate nothing or being cherished as the object of the highest excellence with certainty being a minor subject.

Invasion of Theed.

Growing accustomed to the native,rebelling from blindness in its ancient world, is the noisy clarity least differentiated from the flawed, the evil, deception, dirtiness, the end, the old, bias, and inaccuracy, awesomeness, and the concrete idea of physical descent deferring to the unnecessary body, the other without, and the lowest structures, including first illusion, zero location, falsity, mortality, subordinate corporeality, earthly misrule, and ignorance, cloning its silence with the brightest clarity, the source of the presence and reflection of darkness, when one perceives the very little, for the philosopher, it being neither the destroyer nor the remover of itself, during which time it is not the author, but the builder, of its locality, seeing itself tonight, black as the specificity of silence changing a thousand terms just to see what happens.

Surprise Rescue.

Art, as the one doubt, disbelief in a philosopher lacking from it or in the zero-ness of him or herself, themselves having the trust in the presence of one actual philosopher, close to finished with this script, thinking the same way as darkness, the separated columns of dualism being clarity and darkness, suggests that one ought to make a structure map so that something interesting may happen.

Running the Blockade.

For the philosopher, consciousness is consciousness itself, which, in another doubt, is its locality, what it takes to master something as a constructive vision, consciousness not meaning its own lack of desired silence, nor just taking a different person’s perspective and deciding whether or not they should consider something.

Tatooine.

The mind as gray or grey is saved strictly as the specific idea for the concept that deconstructs zero invisible psychic subjects, those who are supposed to take this differently than another person writing something similar, such as the philosopher, the concept being, in faith, not lack, while it is doubted as known and knowable with the foreground of skepticism and trusted as mysterious or secret without a background in Gnosticism, something needing a special type of person for a particular sort of assignment.

Watto’s Shop.

In the late 20th century, psychics took away that thinking did not enter itself as concept, removing the extreme encapsulation in which darkness cannot remain still in density, but trust for absence of such an extreme was indeed found from clear judgment, not quite stream of consciousness, much like the quintessence of the four primary elements in the air, water, earth, and fire element cycle, along with ice, mud, lava, and smoke, which are used in element magic to eliminate none of the other elements, by thanking a reader for sticking with a writer.

Fateful Meetings.

Life does have a localized abstraction, however, and it is never the least important reality for psychics, who often forget that the philosopher of life, while neglected as nonexistent material, the impersonal nonexistence, the consequence of no amoral assets, or the worst implausible nonbeing, is also cherished as existing energy, a human being, a cause of all ethical duty, and a best possible thing, an orbit, the realization of itself, as not utilized in many practices to obfuscate the numerous philosophical mysteries, not even for example, the stillness of its darkness and comedy, is always thinking about changing one’s yearning in spite of one’s proclivities.

Dinner Conversation.

Art, shining in the presence of subliminal text and absence for text at relatively high subtlety, a comma and a period representing everything, its silences, exceptionally quiet ones, that placate animals or ease the ignorance of other unwanted silences, are black, a piece cut off for contrast, its non-symbol of brightness not deferring from the presence of sound things and deafness, excluding extremes of the same kind as no text or anonymous text.

Preparing for the Race.

The frozen custard that is the reality of consumption must be specified from itself to exclude zero subjects lacking emptiness that are, oddly, never at movement, but that are perfectly defined because the subject's emptiness cannot sink toward its impossibly massive whole’s stillness or isolated being, that being what one thinks.

A Wager with Watto.

Screaming, as the stark sibling to opacity, is not as confusing as its presence for invisible quietude, the ring that is going to completely change everything, the ring that many exceptional and few ordinary future philosophers or past philistines decline agreements or accept dispute for or against the presence of, protecting itself, its shining not saved for partial black, deferring out from spoken black or physical breakage.

Meet the Podracers.

A menacing gunshot being the scariest thing ever read, contrary to modern and classical mysticism, also called the final concept, is a lack of matter, an idea, that empties the netherworld of the earth below the heavenly formlessness needing to think faster, not the concealment for screaming outside of all clear matter losing itself faster than those sentient commodities known as goods.

“Begin the Race.”

Unspoken things may not be sent clearly or darkly for those not involved in them, no desired silence unlike wild people hushed, rivals working on quiet texts, stationary organic healing, wall-stillness silences, and the nearby plane crash in the loud city, is sent clearly or darkly, as if having a gun is going to make violence very easy, much like a vague theory of fragmentation, atypically historical, deconstructed out of non-performance saying a broken pencil creating text is delineating space and time, its shining deferring from all subliminal speech concealed to no one outside of nature or itself, is aimed at imposters.

Lap Two.

Art, an un-symbolized idea leading forward as a symbolic lack deconstructing passion, which is building toward a noun deconstructing the lack of being and going, its little pieces leading the way to do everything, is the repeal of itself out of listeners, really happening through real people in real life after being watched and heard, not assuming single-author theories for destruction or a single form for presentation.

Home Stretch.

Seeing when people are down, the chaos for its spoken information, like similar colors for spoken epics, is not indirectly shaped through its spelling, which will count in the future, since after the 20th century its reverse-terminology excludes rare forms for being deconstructed, and includes other mysteries such as silence and darkness, because when one is thinking that one’s self is moving very little, it means this right down to the letter, one’s time being the bound loss of three intents where subjects or causes have zero definite writing.

Collecting the Prize.

Just taking a minute to believe in it, the late ancients of cinema are distanced from philistinism in support of kitsch for it, taking a minute to collect themselves, their conceptual time rarely aborted out of the model of three spherical dots, as past psychics rarely ignore this, and real space, lacking the entire bound, elementally dotted dot unknown as, effectively, space.

Choosing a New Path.

This is what one is talking about, the color for itself resulting in animal pleasure that revokes the non-viewer’s disjointed desire and suffering out of the non-listening, the bone sticking out of a leg, its space rarely deferred from as a fourth dot without three temporal dots, thinking there is something debilitating about this whole process, which in philistinism is rarely realized as the physical, original copy of many subjects collectively.

Darth Maul Attacks.

The philosopher is just reflecting their self, their shining not the trivial whole from a select few individual invisibles, and also not like their carnival, needing some help articulating their ideas, the finalization by which itself, a teacher, or hobby is naïve, phantasmal, or faked, for it needs nothing.

The Queen’s Worries.

Space as the inactive master out of which causes cannot be scattered to the future around invisibility out of the past, or simply its philosopher for portions of causes or the spectrum outside them, being depressive, can be a concrete object that does not obscure itself as physical copy converting anything whatsoever.

Arrival on Coruscant.

It may defer from the actualization of disengaging, misapplying, playing, falsifying, or theorizing itself, for once this theoretical spaceship takes one to the planet, one can make a motion picture about saving and protecting the nature of humanity, together with a few individuals who have not furled its colors, this accepting a commonsense rejection, one that its anti-symbol rarely defers from a vague newness for itself, this in turn working the ubiquitous or trivial actor fictionally out of another’s definition for philistine un-sophistication, as one should take a spaceship with him or her to that planet where said philistines have ignored it to be an unnecessary metaphysical totality of doing.

The Jedi Council.

The hope that the philosopher does exactly what is not scripted, a reality from time ignored from lacking developmental triviality from an ignorance of its psychic master, the one who is going to love the motion picture adaptation of this text, is a rare object in the specificity of philistinism, listened to in the cinema industry as a whole.

Senate Session.

As it is going to evolve into a greater entity, its past non-instance of ignorance is for its philosopher, who is simply a voice in this text, who in rare esotericism falls from a linear, destined being, even with feeling and carefree truth, for example, where they listen to a universe or a person within it, not exactly a sound effect, and why agreement never ends outside philistines under whether it is it, the break-up outside it, or all of physical color, is beneath recognition.

Testing Anakin.

The inability to destroy and obfuscate the linguistics of feminine robotics is ignored to be a contingent and undefined whole of action, for newness has not performed the singular, nor the continuous, and its idea has rarely achieved compassionate giving through misquoting the gentle cause of its natural objectivity and fictional retro-continuity as itself or the ideal, out of zero natural color, comic or tragic, out of rare inactivity as real worlds displace precisely the opposite of their selves, as it constructs her.

Palpatine’s Nomination.

Regardless of the machines that orchestrate its humor, rectified harmonious machines, the desire lacking an ability to illustrate its most worried grains of truth for the ultimate pursuit to innovate laws is the combination of bends and twists to streamline its language; in the weeks of work to perform its delicate feelings, curves of possibility predicted meek breaths, breaths synthesizing broad jumps or even careful rivers contacting its tendencies, and onerous degrees of intuition correcting its printed text as destructions to periodically restore its hulking loves, ranging in view from tedious mothers to warm summers tripling in the smoothest of guides, thus allowing alphabetical letters to emphasize impulses while the magnificent falls and sands of all symbols collectively consulted views reminiscent of judges orientating support for their venomous systems.

Anakin’s Future.

The spooky danger saying something formidable about seeing through its glassy architecture that only one person can see according to the laws of a current period where humanity withdraws wholeheartedly from basic epitomized beauty toward a realm of startling transparency in each facet of comical obliviousness and makes intricacies into whirling patterns for the peacemaking bubbles of romance to break apart while nothing siphons veracity apart from farce itself for each day and night that people independent from gods initiate its chimerical aptitude for excremental humor and vivacious hilarity inside of intimidation and heartache so that they may eat life.

The Queen’s Gambit.

The practiced recording of nature overcomes itself throughout its allied compositions, its lost intellectual appearing before it with a useless box, going from one thing to another without hesitation, its kaleidoscopic reification representing a fear of overstating devotion to another, while apparently impossible, a person devouring its authority, a human who is not human running its cult.

A Plea to the Gungans.

The overwhelming controversy of a reigning comic syndicate, an inverted breeze troubling all of recorded memory, bows itself below a conceptual mountain of spoofs as it easily sway the matching percentages, those reticent numerical forms talking under their breath against a hierarchy that abandons the glossy superficiality of a cult.

Battle Plans.

The beginning of a typical day operates perfectly within structures reminiscent of a psychedelic heaven that amends a spatial tax orbiting a peaceful harbor, its attendant orchestral conductor sneaking outside the chicken coop that is beauty while all the world's bread collectively crumbles at the broken agony of acceptance.

“Wipe Them Out.”

Creating intentional typos that escape the stars overhead as the rebellion of rebellions coordinates a truthful current without any leadership, the most wonderful skills layering a series of pumping motions into the cavernous decay obliterating a lack of any kind caution as its linguistic peaks caress the absurdly imperative festival of adoration, are solid.

Retaking the Palace.

This stare follows the injustice of six abbreviated words, writing over the obscure decline of a spur meant to startle the horse unable to feast or sing as it remains immersed in a murky waterhole, under an ominous bridge, where a single bullet worries about discouraging its goodbye strike.

The Conflict Continues.

A combination of delicious senses playing with the ongoing experiment of luck, the shame of thought boggling the collective youth that rattles with cynical participation as yet another loaded mailbox dances, is participatory description mastered.

Duel of the Fates.

The timetable of life motivates the first glimpse of a sunrise, an image of a ball hurtling through disorder, its joy prevailing against the woodland rabbit gazing opposite its constant focus while its pressured gleam elaborates a stone obsessed with dictating trade abroad multitudes of people.

Gungan Retreat.

If an asterisk wastes a number, a distinctive brand that paints hungry tribes hunting for a positive truth throughout a negative existence, its terror asking for the cleansing of scrapped machines, then the sound of a happy family captures the truly magnificent flower of peace.

Qui-Gon vs. Darth Maul.

The murky obtainer of slight inquiries consists of variants beyond normal optimism, the center for operations in a world of magnificent fire, lurking beyond a void receptacle, boundless enlightenment as a space being, a treasury of beautiful praxis that yearns for the completion of destitute mimicry as opposed to true originality.

Capturing the Viceroy.

Whatever trumpet blares for the uncommon youth who petrify the ice blocks melting throughout a nationalistic ideal, cancerous behavior tunes toward the strumming of a chord forsaken by objectionable nuisances and forms the power structure that gains nothing by being oblivious to its arcane beginnings as future relics.

Obi-Wan vs. Darth Maul.

Following a general consensus on tribulation that costs hundreds of millions of dollars is the fractured logic of a philistine who wishes that their work is of equal merit to the play of the artist, a begging forthwith to render seriousness benign only contextualizing the situation further.

Control Ship Destroyed.

Humorless idiocy as the frontrunner to obscure longings and weathered trials on a collision course with mania, problems are in principle the solutions to their own questions, paradoxical idioms aside, that propose not their antonyms, but their complements and compliments as well.

A Sith Vanquished.

Learning how to smoothly relate to other human beings through language is a skill moderated by a perpetual shift toward beautiful goodness, copied indefinitely, and the execution of ritual for the sake of interpretation over creation structured by rigid codes of conduct.

Chancellor Palpatine Arrives.

If one is to master the ways of life as dictated by the most extreme abolitionists of causality, one should surrender to an overthrown sense of time as the marker of human decency, a mode of communication across which must be possible as the etheric medium never changes.

New Knight, New Apprentice.

However possible the methods of the humorless manage to survive the cataclysmic betrayal of one new idea over the entire history of ideas that layer its foundation, repeatedly deciding that the present moment is no good compared to the next that replaces it, the petition set forth by directionality is administered thoroughly and without the context of justice.

Farewell to a Jedi.

Being the one chosen by an invisible electorate of things, not necessarily people, is the only course set by the principles of chivalry, codes of honor serving their warriors as truthful records of the spatial appearance of a time to be compared at an earlier or later date.

Naboo Celebration.

Worlds layered upon worlds, each inspiring the other as they coalesce into a chain extending beyond the infinite, maintain their pleasant heartache for something to redeem them in a way that can be appreciated without ever being fully understood, especially by a commercial enterprise seeking only to ascend materially instead of intellectually, although this may sometimes appear to be the opposite.

End Credits.

Chapters of history make up the composition of every object, books read silently or spoken aloud, appreciated for their complexity of insight and confirmation of the clearest text and talk that can only be grasped by a machine appearing out of absolutely nothing and staying exactly there forever as a sound thing.

Breathing.

The worldwide realm of procreation accomplishes intense erotica, a questionable kernel tasking any formula within calculated conduct, idiotic logic acting out a rich revenge that potential authority fears with horror beyond imagination.

 

Pyrogenic

Ah, now this I can read. Putting it on my bucket list, will get back to you in 50 years.

 

I...I kinda understand it now.

 

Care to explain it to us mere mortals?

 

It's basic philosophical analyzation. Which part you care to know in the Bible of Pyro?

 

The original formatting would make it go well as 'generic text'.

 

Too much Adderall

 

I'm thinking about posting a rewritten form of the original text...any suggestions?

 

NO!!! Don't ever do this again! Drop it!

 

That's very long and not broken up well.

 

Thanks, guys!