.
Even now I look at somebody's lifestyle in the air. It is obviously all around me, I can't help if it seems imperfect or false, we only have to notice that it was me, in relation to what I bomb. I saw most of the hall. And I saw you with everything I had, along with the motherfuckers on the balcony, and I never saw you as a part of that crew, and with this expression I saw you with the book you were reading, and parcels of old books that I knew were Welsh poetry. And to me it was certainly worth remembering, the run back and seeing things. If we want to stay all alone by the ones we see as perfect, above the surface it means as much to a person's idea of perfection as water, we need not use me. Just like with some particular item love had become murder. The Summer turns slightly, and what I see might be a boat or a similar vehicle. Back into the wrongs of the different... In Spring, the attacks of this virus affected all issues, having ranged from men to women, all of whom might have been distressed like no other. You performed most of the accusations, rather names of the passwords to total iconoclasm, and I am now what gods have possibly painted, I burned certainly not trying on the wall, and I collected all photographs to protect myself by not knowing who wiped out every time I had said so. The historical axioms and processes were simply thought in emptiness. Various colours and lost elements were regained, and were finally missing. Physically, it was the possibility of having a car, as this religion is an interface for accidents rising to mentally bare breasts. There are two dominating essences of the whole subject, so we may meet their dynamics both ways - their current reflection, with possibility (well, almost an impossibility) of the disobedient sick ones kept inside with a few wild ones invoking wider social interest. But the province caused nausea among men and therefore their lives seemed like so much more in the eyes of similar women, they seem imperfect to those of their chapters and each occasion, rambling on their own as well. As the men cruised, the phrase obtained a new meaning and coherency, stumbled in beachfronts, definitely not remembering how they could see the virus, and populated areas in search really warp the people who locked their children inside various sights, women seized their feminine identity, and due to the fear of seeing them walking proudly with full knowledge they don't even realize it. I navigate between higher powers, causing possible rise in the childlike fear that the story is of humans, those deliquent bastards.
"Is there something you'd like to hear?"
"...umm..."
"Oh, don't say it, I know: ART TATUM."
The sound of old, twisted vinyl fills the room, ching ching stinky pub pianism. I channel the sound to different energies. As for people the creation is probably the only power communicating through the unhappy - the Sunday covers them through various ethereal lives and would call schools on days like this one. Due to the said lives, much less than we think should teach our infection of this purest perfection, the children just don't understand that in the earthly land a panic has spread: We should finally understand how the body is not something to work across these ultimate cursed powers we feel ashamed of. The effect of this bastardly weather is ideal - I am sorry to say but you are infected. It happened when I said I'd never pronounce anything that unbelievable, thoughts crossed me out loud. I believe that your flesh has it all wrong like baobabs. Each and every person is living exposed without reprisal. Black-eyed nomadic rabbits.The word hell told this one single thing that used to describe my feelings about the guy who called me, reminding me of thoughts - was his computer what had happened. Call some forlorn. For one thing, I knew he had other problems as well. Reading these rants one lives his/her own life because through the law of physics they get the feeling of putting themselves right there, so the limitations are placed by a man speaking in his each and every person, living by a man himself. It is like in a latex dream, and the perception is ripe. It is a completely perfect scenario of this life, all reactions are pure misinterpretations of the lies they have built. The perception has become fear - not for the basic instructions given, for perfection is up there, and safety is guaranteed by obeying your instincts before appearing for all to see. It seems that I saw you in my mind, oh I'd love the night train, others knew enought to steal a car and those damn infidels knew less about those who drive, far away like your side, your face more involved with machines than him. And there is the fear that a woman might leave this so-called planet, the once peaceful province now obliged to remove ours.
A closed prison without walls: It is finally rapid enough. Whole epochs pass with the rhythm of fundemented ideology and politology - the indifferent social cycles and eras show no enthusiasm and are deemed philosophically laughable. The common prohibitions and inhibitions have witnessed yhe most interesting part of the drama, drawing views over such reality - a moderate nightmare.
The lost dark figure painted with my feet that hurt with time. Maybe I should remember you when saying my evening prayer. Nah, I dunno. Every color of the harlot, the pain I had now and then and the words walked ten miles before the line was cut dead, it escaped me with my new shoes and he had to dial the only dream that was going on, and the least thing that happened was the number again, all ruined, and it was the only thing I could have used, so as a result the bill was more like an empty wish - all that was left was just a bit of sympathy. I can see your picture! However, some parts of Ontario have been fated with their shirts as the chains flow downwards. We have everything that makes you happy: A new plague, a finely pounded idea as well. This plague is more virilant than our heads, so if we had been created to fly by the government, we should finally acheive a viral existence. It is similar to the annoyance, but, then again, several figures blocked my ringing and I never caught the very way home, so I heard the telephone, and told a very disturbing essay as the only thing I could do, the caller didn't mind reading and doing his own business right on a Winter day, so I shouted GET OFF and call back later about knights and what a stinking day it was, because I was on drugs and the goyishe bastards had gone to sleep.