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Self nurtures the non-movemental being with for –the-self.  Self situates itself in admonishing its forcefully stationed conglomeration. Life march passes it. Codeine inebriation!  Looking the Buddha looks.  Full –baked cogital interfaces.  Substances substantiates being ‘in-itself’, raised to the nether world of objectal otherhood principia.  Chief occurrence being stationary self-possessed octopus
Tin jam half baked sausages. No routine of permanence for ad-hoc being’s selfified stasis of motion ‘in-itself’ occurrence. The notional routine being bypassers emblematic adage of recognition. Who’s who of the bakery stole a few junk ridden paisas. Enough for a grass eater. Not for us. I sold the family
Being on its own, begets forgetting account. The transversal of being erupts as soul seeking search at the end of the parchment. Heroine transverses its own self. Who’s who of the area, 23rd lane and Young Mr. R. We were held atop. Life’s reckoning past the obsolete grain against the
The lane was sordid enough to call forth the untidy peddlers. Bulganin was his combo name. It appeared to us as the Soviet impoverished canon of Heroine dealings. Prolong was our desire, to erupt thence around the Bhadroloki impetus building. Niceties were the Cadbury to make the Heroine bitterness obsolete.
It was a kind of ecstasy. Being the pinch hitter in group of sultry hoodlums. My man was Som and the little crook Sujit. Who’s who of canned lumpency of Hatarpara, just opposite of our school, red and gray, which most of the time represented French arson gallery.  All the
Literary underscores the singular representation of facts. Facts are inside out within the book. The facts are tutelage to the underscoring of visual pictorials. Facts are dependent on the immanence of platform namely the book. The book’s space is in spatial domain denotative of single being ‘for-itself’. While the book
End of solipsism and its subsequent rings. The sea tones in the beginning enarmours the vigilant. White supremacist think tank ellipsis travels through jingle beats. The story ends and begins again. Time to time the beginning haunts the calypso conscience, for they are the white man’s circularity. The story follows
Thing gets corrugated in shit hole empire of Area Studies. Studies regime sustains itself through allergic relation to its objectal references. Time gets its span not as history, but, history as a time gap zone of writing allergic relation to selfhood. Thus the regimatic formation of Studies, willy nilly with
Bena bought the stuff. I too was eager. Who’s who of Codeine inebriation. In my ad-hocship with the medicine, I started to see myself outside of me. Certain topsy-turvy inbetweenness prevailed. Me being inbetween of selfhood and the otherized petrified objectal references. Bena started the regime of planned action- roaming
Jack played the truism of teenage, being a poet. His slurry ad-hocship as a poet singled out no more than a mere ideal. Hundred kilometres north to the city of Kolkata. In touch with ways, village and city. Its contact zone being the liminal out goes of citizenship. City never
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