Faix Porte

Porte Faix. I don't know what it means, from Dre's or drays, xenon to whatever, and now anon. Burdens carry, carries burdens. It was just the name of a ship I saw once in a book, and the things that catch in the baleen mind, mind you don't: whatever, again. Playing is fun, never stop or die trying, Geronimo isn't always a bad way to go, a good day to die a good death on a good horse, riding; it's the only way to go. Do you really need to think it out and hone every little blade into a detailed yard then into a grove on into the pasture: a brown cow on the hill grazing, and a farmer rolling over the hill on his tractor, rocking lazily in his seat, swaying with the rising slope and its hidden green bumps, obviously tired from another too long day.