Foucault never died. It was a fiction, but that did not make it less real. it was junciton of Dis. By
the river Dis he met his maker. Lots of people were there. Weeping and tarnishing in the level street. the rue of bell. the cow of whether of sheep. dizzy of eye. swept of weep. cared of know. discourse of this that and the winding crease of become. crevasse of these hand held in the dark. over the bier. flower after sweet briar . rose on pen. lilie and tuilip to corral this melody. remember to repeat her fifth weeding vow. Jill hipped the burial this discourse of knowing . sexual beginning pedagogical roof. air to see. its over here hail.