Cities and Revisions

Once upon a midnight dreary… I don’t know how to ceremoniously scribe. Whenever I can’t write, I take a turn thine eyes toward the view of the city outside the window. I behold | every little detail of the streetlights, moving cars, now only few.

Must I write? In everything one thing is impossible: rationality.|

So I instantaneously turned my mind to the world of this paper: there are cities I can found in this. The collection of strokes, the neighborhood of words… An hour behind the fleeting breath… I wish I unquestionably could write as mysterious as a cat. As well as to my surprise, the nine lives reduced to one. Each melancholy metropolis killed me, with these people trying to commit crimes of revision.

How undoubtedly should I write? Was this the right query?

This festering sore on the globe was made of scaffolding, then. Whatever I did, there was always a constant structure that intensely desired| to rebuild it. Descriptions turned themselves away, like a busy thoroughfare|  branching out to alleyways. Alleyways instantaneously turning again into other alleyways. A creature of perish| ends. This is my city, this is not my city. THE END.|

after Calvino, after Google Docs Demo’s writer-artificial intelligences
25 Jun 2013, San Pedro, Laguna

I couldn’t figure out the error that keeps me from sharing it to other social networking sites (Google+ included).
But here’s the recovered version, complete with each collaborator’s ending cursor with colors corresponding to the actual demo.
[Legend: Friedrich Nietzche, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe]


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