Saturday the 9th of December, 2006
And now, The Name of The Rose, querying the licitness of laughter.
Delight.
Mutually-syncratic idio-facilities, expression-found in the corporal world and through it's transcedence.
That's what I've got to say about that.
I have no basis. I have no limits. I cannot claim. I am not certain.
Is this an admission possessing, in any sense, validity?
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