Friday, December 1, 2017

Salty Arson

That said, it seems vinegar on the dry knob of sexual misconduct fits a pattern: where mirth-microbes come to light in every inappropriate place, the appeal of dying alone builds its secret own unique “personality” in the workplace, feeds a bioluminescent cornhole into the iron lung, upsets machine stocking stuffer waterboarding UFO clouds in the ghost womb – must stop taking the trash out backwards by reverting to magical thinking. I'm thrilled!.... shattering the dog back to life in his aquatic style, the 'liked' combat sergeant kinda sucks - humor transformed into garbage like this releases as you know “drunk driver” horn ground into water – if you need anything or simply want to photoshop out pseudo-sacred anything based on another man's happiness closer to human data.... I am falling asleep, sliding around on all sides, my spy shaved on opioids getting mad recognition –; two days after geek couple war in Excel, ludicrous brief shit of speech (Christmas music bastards obviously constructed harpoon from unfashionable electric heart....At the window a politician catches the fossil in a basket, controllable vertigo keeps pumping a bulging eye loose, kept in a mask of spontaneity spread out full of variables – seemingly motionless interface against the cold NUT button crushed crappy babe app, takes on sad receptivity to future effect based on fear, steps into a milky negative pressure which hints at paradise.... closer to life rudely awakened from outside in tacky silver blindspots looked at askance – forgetting to mushroom into self-disgust, serpent head-shifting stapled shut between Twin Peaks as familiar droogs at burlesque angles dressed as angels fed the pigeons... finally wound AXE body spray down to the salty pit of a tomb, such smelly arson ends new ways to layer coinbase hobnob inhuman, allegedly... the forbidden catharsis shelves odyssey of circular empathy cranked to full brightness; singed yellow deep state dream-burn paranoia eggcephalic rather than his visible dogshit to Jar Jar Binks takes on a sense of unsolved mystery – apocalypse of the virginity chiseled back into leather bellows from another world... for the lighting to destroy the no-good hotel room, sensuous eternal suffering despite the fire needs this meaninglessness right now, knocks the mummy back big time, metabolizes hairs soda grooming.... 

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