One day, I turned into a cloud, an infinite cloud remix.

[squirmelia]

That purposeful sleep amongst violent heaps of rain can be an intensity of clouded desire. That curled heaps of hair can be lead to an intensity of clouded desire too, and thunderstorms and shopping for wave clouds, and shoplifting streaky clouds, and abstaining from heaps, and layered food, and meditation on lee waves, and sitting so close to the sky that the clouds fill your whole vision, and the alternative layer tickles your eyelashes like a stray curl of hair. That you do not have to like the pearls of clouds in order to lean near them. That the opposite of loneliness is not a function of the clouds that shine at night.