Beating off in slow motion deleted biology's door in cerulean frame with
a learned gentleness in too many spots. I'm any kind of friend
anticipated from the ugly stork through an obscuring grocery bag, eyes rolling in their sockets, but I'm not, like some reference in a brainteaser, lost. Eat shit.... The stench brewing in a freeze-resistant shell lets the
base of the plateau purse box-shaped; the large zip of wi-fi in the clouds shatters its surrounding gelatin. Honestly, it no longer
matters....The machine war saved my life. Like the alligators
of Transhumanism, the glitch is bad at Being; it scares by mistake.
With slack mouth open, smash it! Repeatedly reset – heavy text! Distances outside me snap, but in the basket of limbo the Overlords mead. Through mighty determination something profoundly putative, well, rips into
spirals, entrails of the universe of the dead snake. (They
fill the soul with platitudes….) and I, George, (gradually) cannot
comprehend, moving with the unusual knife attacks. Brisk side effect
warnings masking their true strength with speed-sticks (these could
better secret their dullness by throwing artificial sweetener's
ancient shadow into wounds.... i.e. with the clarity of planetary sauce with which the
demon woman's growth of golden design is inclined to damage
neighboring walls & birth mysterious noises around the evil city....)
A plant seems to hum. In a singed mud-network leaves the movie
theater. Eats a killer's boner down to its true realistic self....
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