Flash Fiction: Temporature

1993 I’m in the main quad of Sydney University and it’s 23 Celsius. Im wearing a white shirt. looking at the jacaranda tree. From here am just attempting thermoceptive temporal body memory. back then I was thinking I would never read meinong, Frege or brentano. Today i contradict the temperate fabric but not temperature. The tree doesn’t exist anymore. Theres catacombs I’m inventing. There’s a gust in them. 23 Celsius. Some song letters. Its the vestige of weather channel via satellite. Its the doubting voice getting dragged to the time at 23pm. Stitching. 

Sure anyone knows temperate. Mood. Random heat memory of that really hot day of 46 Celsius just then. 2016. Living in the Cardigan St monastery with yes yesyesyes George. I will never be a neuroscientist on current study outcome but time is just a memory, nature 2019. But which one? Like the event or short term or working or long term uffff. Time gets slower is a pop charge of scribes. Which speed then. Implant fast time of my slow cooker. oops, preemptive text poet exhausted: e: The best way for the best of you and the family and the future are not going through this life or not to be able with you to you and you are not going through the process and I am so glad that I have a mentor to your life I am not a big fan of this but it’s not going through the same time you are not going through this but it’s a very nice thing and you have a great time.

end e. Yes its done. Associate 1st person with 3rd person.

To continue, the prior fire trail involved desire for someone while I in polyuse lyring "I will never experience this temperature again" but over a phone call. So I build a deep regain to the psychosis of heat just to troll my selfmemorial puff. I'm strong enough for the dive into turbulent spray. Integral hypothesising. 

Image: Chinese Fire Clock