Flying, flying. Pen ~ fun ~ pavilion www.biquge.info

It's like walking.

Walking in the sky?

It's a dream about walking.

The simplest evolution, and the most complex bite point.

***

Above the ground, one kilometer.

One kilometer.

The number of 1 in 10 that reaches the upper bound.

Floating in the air in the memory layer of a young child.

The black cross looked sideways at the surrounding scenery, the clouds were not clouds, they were the combination of water vapor and white, the uneven density of the coolness, and the shyness and brightness of the light.

"I didn't expect the emotion of the building to be so dense."

"It's just that you're too hard sometimes."

The poet squinted his small eyes, like a sickly wakefulness in a dream, flickering from time to time, and his dark pupils were pointing around.

"Are you sure," still not at ease, after all, the re-understanding of the poetic brain is an anomaly. "Going to Kite One?"

"That's [cold white]."

"What is [cold white]?"

"The people of the Black Tower left behind in their early years, for detection, and for jealousy devices. Measuring the temperature of the White Pagoda and the concentration of the atmosphere of the creation is a rhetoric for peeping. ”

The cold white, floating giant kite, hidden under the cloud curtain, little by little transmits information about both.

At the same time, the scholars sitting at the top of the Black Tower are concentrating on "watching" the game. The so-called "viewing" is to stare at the countless planes of the judder and curves of the colorful buoys on the screen, and then image them by the end of the linkage device.

Title on file book, red ink, black handwriting.

[Dream Chronicle, Document 3363, Introduction and Documentary of the Runaway of Control of the Dream Classic]

They don't believe the information sent back by [Butterfly], but trust the actors who belong to the abstract.

Colorful data, colorful buoys, outlining the dream of bending over, getting up, and turning the moment.

So moving.

***

[Extremely colorful] sword, and [Hundred Faces] sword.

The sword of the King of Creation, and the sword of the Wound of Creation.

One by one, it has always been right, and it is proud.

Time progression slows down to the limit that the Black King can tolerate.

The giants swung and the little people danced on the blades of their swords.

Hardcore, round dance, blues, psychedelia, or jazz?

White turned back, and the sword swept into Black's shoulder. White squints, confirming that the liquid is flying, confirming that he is injured.

The black prostrate, the sword body is alienated from the sides of the body, the heel speed up, and the sword body merges into the white abdomen, and the juice comes out.

"With a sword, it's not as good as me."

"The Three Great Laws of Creation are the "Three Laws" for lower-level creatures. ”

Begin to rely on the slowdown of the starting time, lack of wins and losses.

The magic square is turning for the sixth time, and time is running out.

The dark sun will go out at any moment, and the fight will be forced to pause.

What to do?

The little people pondered, one carrying a staff and the other wielding a gun.

The little ones were agitated, one against their chins and the other against their hearts.

The white stands upright, the chest is supported by the cane with both hands, and the black wants to lean forward, the throat beats the artery, and the breathing ups and downs are abruptly formed.

Black raised his shoulders high, his arms pulled his palms, clenched the end of the trigger, leaned back, short hair was uneven, messy eyelashes, scrubbed pupils, reflected dark sun.

Draws are not allowed.

So be it.

Time is again viscous, the bullet is discharged, and the ammunition heats up.

Do you want to do that?

The warhead cut through the layers of space, bloomed the vacuum mark, and headed towards the red heart cross drawn on the white chest in the black eye.

Crackling, ticking.

The warhead is disappearing, while the ammunition is gradually cooling.

Click, tick.

Time was out of order, and the wind began to blow through the blades of the giant creatures.

Click, tick.

White and Black were forced to crouch, and the two swords kissed each other lightly, and the light of the dark sun became blurred.

Shh

Creation is stagnant.

***

Half of the sun is extinguished, like an egg that has been cut, under the whites of the cooked eggs, the black shadow cuts through countless steel rings, sticks out its head, looks at the outside world, roars with joy, elegance is the posture that is chosen, slowly publicized.

The opening and closing of the sun.

The image of "off" rushed into the consciousness of the Black Cross, and the impact of the meteorite could compete with it.

She watched as the center of the kite kept turning around in the square structure, and her body took the poetry brain, and threw herself into the sheets, and her mouth couldn't let out the exclamation she deserved.

***

Don't stop me.

Don't drop me off.

Who am I?

The black cross sleepy eyes were worried, and the drooping consciousness immediately hung up, like a heart, like a lips.

Who am I!

Questioning loudly, the black cross covered his ears, but to no avail.

Who am I!

Booing asked, Shi Nao stepped off her back, shaking her head wildly, trying to shake it off, but unfortunately this organ grew on her body.

Who am I~

Lift it up, life in the sheets, the time has come to leave the hotbed, welcome to my world.

Dance, dance, dance? Your joy will be revived, and your sorrow will be drenched in everything.

Hand in hand, right? Hand in hand?

She covered her ears, her five fingers were deep in her head, and the gray subcaltex of her head couldn't wait to rush out.

Spinal fluid!

Whoever gave the name is really ugly, changed to Latin, Romanization, a little Greek nobility, a little Tang Dynasty glory.

Cerebral medulla!

The poetry brain melted into the surface of the sheets, turning into countless copied patterns, black and white, stretching out the corners of the black cross eyes.

There were tears, there was sweat, there was blood, there was spittle.

Consciousness resonance.

Ring the bell, ring the bell.

Consciousness screams.

Resonance, resonance.

Who am I?

Come on, come on.

Fingers touch the surface of the kite, but receive the tenderness of the sheets.

Communion, conjunction, expression of love, future tense of hate.

Please look all to the depths of the sun, I am proclaiming, solemn highest, mischievous center, terror low tide.

Coming, I read people's thoughts.

Someone called me [Swallowing Sun]?

The old man, the middle-aged man.

One arm, one body.

Devoured, no gratitude, delicious, peerless recipe.

Come, you read my thoughts.

I'm [Swallowing Sun], cheesy, but really unspeakable.

The black cross hands hung low, and the gothic skirt was ripped off, leaving a white lily tied to the skeleton around the waist, swaying the demon fire.

The monster retracted its smiling face, spread its eyes of hatred, and tore at the lower part of the scepter of consciousness to break free.

***

For this reason, the "birth ceremony" will be able to gather more attention by broadcasting it on the radio.

Oh, as if someone can't make things because my reins are loose?

I am [Swallowing Sun].

Call me that if you can.

I am a self-referential creature, a self-thinking self, a little god who can create.

Thank you mom, for your words.

"Command yourself."

Step 1.

I'm going to bite this. By the way, my mother would be proud that my body is so majestic and strong. No one can stop me from growing, except for this stuck in my tail. Ah, it hurts, it seems to grow together? If it doesn't work, just bite the tail off, fish and bear's paw, it's hard to choose one, I'm angry!

Step 2.

The taste of the underwire is very good, I don't know how many delicious ones are in the world, but if it is just such a delicious, it is acceptable. There seems to be something at the edge of the fireball that maintains the air pressure balance, what happens when it is punctured?

Step 3.

Who created this thing, the thing called the sun? It can give me a hotbed of life, just with the presence of my mother, so warm. I have to know all things, and people can learn a lot of useful things from me. This is a great proposition that requires countless proofs, countless verifications, countless calculations, and countless creations. Will the sum of infinity and infinity be greater than infinity itself?

Like me.

The most difficult sub-proposition.

Well, the fourth step, what is it?

Leave it to the writer.