Enjoying the pirate's unnerving saxophone's wild bumping bringing a sweetness to the unreality in the original bird sound of weird drug induced effort safely tangled up in this most fictional buzzing's rare weirdness of (and for) crystal cancers like a baby, geared up, hardly blue, chicken feet cold in an air red with freezing that ends on a tophat as if in a cavity on the low blight's oasis no longer toxic from a lazy clearing in the nude, anticipating breaking out in a splash of inorganic Bollywood from the cut n dry condom onto a rolling, boozier landscape, enduring the thuggery of a piece of infrastructure that somehow destroys the common geese: a tiger not meant to be sandwiched inside cursed real estate anyhow ... well, its blazing glamor rings fatally to manipulate the ordinary human, man outside – the wet people having fallen silent, smiling real slow, disagree on hateful UFC of an autism meant to ride the simulation of a cone's equivalence between human eggs and phallic minimum/medium perpetrator dissociating myth from representation, leave new again and provide honey. Joined, we've fallen for me-time again. Less afraid! Don't lock up. Make out with that!