excerpted by hidden *
July 3rd, 2011 § Leave a Comment
The printer shifted her to the other edge recycling the used stamp on her breasts similar to juicing oranges went memorial after passing out.
At the 7th stage, I believe even 8th they dramatically switched their sober will to seek for the toilet police at airports con carne du pont-
-FIN-
“It said the door was written only to the wall you see, you must watch the steps, them only are overrated” he wished a comb desperately.
The pain, gasping for breath just left. He missed the pockets, the lap, those places once a man goes to stay craving the pick on wounded heels!
Addicted to a lush life, as hermano Peraferróa La Pared hatched up only on things as advertisements try to eat our souls, and not ONLY ONCE
in a time, as ever suddenly stop caring about it’s role as retriever of death only, so why those arms skinny telling us the sun is ours?
Landscapes of marks calling for questions what is with her device., a tide behind your face telling me smiles.
It was of sudden behavior acting like a clown at rage such as Lux P0G0 were always proclaiming passing blessings!
Despair and crocodiles leaving thunder marks on his skin returning just as leafs twisting the weather faith all through the tartan firing his blood
passing Carrie Beckett’s restful dreaming the unproblemathematical of her thighs shown to his public eyes wishing to finally paying only to her attention!
Tested as ‘Very God’ by polishment fools wearing desks as souls in front of their faces it made a wonderful family picture of passionated seat farting
creatures trying to tell lies to the can spreading his disease of summer’s dress wearing drunken velvet horses dreaming drowning in sweat and words
of her lobes referring to falling, escape like a bird- a burst. INHALE long row to walk as no point is to be made.
01001001 01001100011011110111011001100101 010110010100111101010101 0100000101110010011011110110000100100001
A drunken master defined the cloth as shown on TV-
Weird enough the ball erupted as she touched it.
∞
“Die Kunst der Anderen” it said on the mirror screaming into my faceless container.
By the way, it was the same book we all had used as blanket wanting more of the martyr’s silk, the second the umbilicalis got cut.
