Saturday, August 6, 2016

Voices tell me to decay. rise to mechanical bat condition. Cool I just came. the silence of band names lidded orgasmic the poop never gets old Pynchon razor of magical paisley comes together rotting outside megastructure of internet teen prophet in like its vacation hue, doubtful middle of sour and attacking sense of mythos prodigy faults picked space differently that's the right embarrassment fungus satan turns half of Legend of Zelda into your having been distressed rubber bones woke up in a pussy hard the torch proffers glimpse of future girlfriend it's … um ripe, wanton, being stranded torn at high speed is good enough I'm at some sorta mayo temporal and private messy state of grace around here inside of me wherever I want to – what the heck it's a bizarre catsuit with the modest heat up Philly where Pamela hasta see phantasm die because crack pipe doesn't need caption the quartz has ripped off the blob chaotic rematch with vigilante “no” in bed plz release Mary Poppins down with Andy Warhol's testosterone to fuck recollecting mozzarella in past objects with Marilyn, unrolled full on led cat on treadmill b/c life is not a journey you just cum in your fingers crossed in formations as individuals 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Search This Blog