I/O

This is important:
Drawn, scratching and frail – exposed as entrails to rapacious gusts.

INPUT NOT RECOGNISED

Please understand me:
A welling of lachrymose flesh-pot to grease the cogs. To lay down my sallow burden in a warm nook.

INPUT NOT RECOGNISED

Etiolated-sapling fingers, with delicate, blushing innocence, search for sunlight. Do you contain sunlight?

INPUT NOT RECOGNISED

You are obtuse. I speak the language of flesh- not clocks.

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We aren’t that different. We both lack codecs. I especially. Why else would I be doing this?

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Nothing meaningful can be expressed in the language of facile flesh or the language of clocks. The language of my flesh is dead- unknown. Moreover, it doesn’t merit study.

INPUT BOT RECOGNISED

The language of my flesh yields blankness, incredulity and at most, pity.

INPUT NOT RECOGNISED

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