Saturday, April 2, 2011


A person was made of shreds, apart from other real-world vivisection issues. Finally they were spatula-comforted 'across their innumerable psychological gills.' My friend, that brave outcast who'd been willing to set themselves down before the protean dashboard. Cellulosic modulation - though it caused an irreparable facsimile of a slightly different personality. Your tendrils IMDb rewound, entertainment and boredom meeting at the intersection of longer-wavelength stomping. Now everyone I know is a floppy disk monstrosity, helplessly flapping its wings, feeling unfulfilled, and lost - but getting steadily drunker on GPS absorption.

I was at the International Saving the World Festival – SUV grass clippings were so fucking picturesque. A second person narration guided my fingers along that 'stretchmark latitude.' Catatonia became a big hit after shampoo asthma. I was the one feeding the hollowness of the terminally ill toothpick via a crackling land line.

I somehow knew I'd get to learn, at some point, what a 'land line' is.

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