A motorbike is not an erection: this is part of the problem, if not the whole of the problem, when it comes to the facts of what this country has never produced. The repeating universe gives us a reason never to say never; discussions that go nowhere are not something I'm going to set a scene for.
Enthusiasts of anything at all talk of what fits 'like a glove,' but even riding gloves are beyond us.
The sewing machine is something which sits in the wings: those who revelled in the simple life, with blacksmiths, showed us relics, now covered with things with battery-life problems, such as pedal-powered sewing machines. This reminder of relatives who kept museums of their own recalling the hand-carved, aught to give others a reminder of just what 'teaching children to think' is about.
I hesitate to think what a child would think on the matter of what I'm 'going on about.'
But no less than three generations have sat and stared at the scripture, 'beware of that which comes from the East,' as if people living no less than two thousand years ago could've had a fucking clue about the present shape of the world. It is not okay to be so literal.
But the word 'just' slips itself in, and then we think, well, you're just going to have to compete with a motorbike.
Now, you're just going to have to compete with the problems I've carried through from before I gingerly held a throttle.