and me too
was it something said like that she was walking to the restroom by then, slung in conversation through microchipped headpiece. one tooth, distinctively the color to match concept with technology. There were no OMGs, no exclamation. Concerted vacuums haunted the insides of neckline. Definitely felt diet. This was her third trip in thirty minutes.
All, gaunt. nothing talked to itself, gauntly. Jutting out was the exception, the "baby." She denigrated herself for being fat at which he left.
Feeling vindicated and vindicated his feelings, all over town. Dumb tricks played on himself.
"DULY noted, check please" he shouts to the window. "Fuck, I dozed off..." nobody's home. This is not about Aerosmith.
wonders who is rxconor.
new reproductive technology tests in developing nations, you know, where the good, sustainable, organic coffee comes from...
bills spying on each other. ocularcentrism is fungible, apparently.
wonders where is rxconor.
you are not one, but many. disagreements arise at the coffee pot, "nobody's home." This is not an Aerosmith reference.
As for the political trickery, that is a Richard Nixon reference. His decayed corpse infected the groundwater supply. No great man thought. He was bigger than 'is skin or anything he bought. And known for a certain, antisemitic rage, also not peculiar to him.
other songs I wanted to forget and did. cool late june greenhouse night air with Jacqueline and Sheen. Ebullient, both. What's the 'right' thing to do with a cigarette butt? Someone runs out of place during Like a Prayer (as sung by a trans Cat Stevens?) yelling 'this is my song! they're playing my song!' Everyone is wearing summer clothing but it's not really summer.
appropriate conundrum. discern
wet wings. nothing to do w/Hopkins.
crummy littered and you thot I'd say city.
beneath the brayne that blows
the torpor under operatics.
Aquatic. Say no more. It's all
loose epitaph talk in the shelter.
The winges were something soft
to put a toothing baby under.
this is the news store. And, over here is the guy who sleep eats. both have keys and various 'security practices'. one is the ideological manifest, the other dreaming. And then hording. This excess of yours I told it to you for decades and decades. And pressed it to myself. Originally everything made sense. But the stand attacked itself. Customers took notice of the delocalized familiarization of ennui. And bought the place. I think it's called Adbusters or something. I just don't know. I'm only sleeping. I'm only eating.
seroquel. ardent neural raid.
irascible tenant,
"you are incorrigible, simply incorrigible."
reflections of a dying paper route.
or was it boy. that was my intention
when he was bested at the helm,
when he was blankets by daylight
and mouthing sections of biblic'
portion, oozing at mandible.
Take a certain someone, add gun
and some radiation. "treat street."
the Hatchers had one under couch
for special haunts. He grips dripping
without days without number, just
characteristics denoted
without sail, without border, dead
time circling, circling (ah) del'very!
