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Utopiad

Fuck off gotta write. (No not you.) Not there yet the mistrals an the whore grave diggers mate and it is glorious union.

So utopiad, so nicety, discomfiture and dismissal. Strewn about in the correct orientation. No notion of daggar, or rationality. My dissidence is dense and it hits me. I am the brick in the back of the car, waiting your arrival on time as usual.

Sea horses seem like nice creatures. Maybe go fuck them. Grayoff and whiteout and all the rainboweducate. It’ll cum. There’s no loss of things. I’m just here now. No one’s here now. We’re all sweet cookies. Crumbs are our ratios.

The rest of my life is when I sleep. The neighbors don’t know me. You know me. You know my neighbors. My neighbors cut their wrists when they’re happy. It’s much easier to write it (wrist) than to read it (horror, disgust). Oy! Folklore! What am I calling you! Cats. The nature of it. *rolls eyes*

All back and it’s good. Hit me up sometime. I’m crooked. No inside, no outside. Just the reality. Still motion pics make me weep, they’re so bad. It’s gross inside. There’s intestines and some sweets. I’m squeamish of gruesome murder, but not of picking boogers. Oh well, guess that’s gross, too.

Rhyme on you. Rhyme on through.

Ghost ship tell me your stories, I am a dead romance novelist caught writing poetry. Don’t cheat on me, you say, next time and I will give you a treat. Ohgoodthecaffeineworeoff. Well. Then some naturalist might remember how the squirrels fuck, too. It’s illegal to haze someone for being themself unless you really really don’t like them. Then it’s legal. Just like your daughter. Be sure to fuck them for me. Fuck fuck fuck like a manic child. They like to spread their vaginal fluids all over the wall… sometimes. At other times they play video games. Just a jester exercising due diligence. Most peasants never saw the torture chambers, anyway. Think I’m sick? You don’t know the inquisition. It’s Christian, though, so I suppose it’s glorious. Spain. What a shit-hole.

Cum dump, to be more precise. Bialleti! Nay, I am wary, traveler, for I drink too much coffee and booze. You lose. This time, turn around so I can touch your butt with both my hands. Denote to me where you live. I’d like to see/meet your architecture. The architects like to hug. I tuned in at “porno”. Guess I’ve got selective hearing.

Golden. Golden.

Exhausted…

Mebe moar later.

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Alien Slut Coffee (Part 2)

In life, slut, that cool shit eats itself. Well? What have you for  yourself say? SlOw DoWn./././././…

I fought. Yes I did. I hope you did too. Upbeat! Yeah! Y’know? Summit? Cough? FffffCradle? Nay. Umm humming. Dope beat. Sup.

Some say! that cousins love each other no matter what. Even if they give each other brain disease. [fast:] how cute

Well no one knows. No one knows when ur naked and when ur not. It’s not the spittle in your chin brow that leaks me down, it’s the market and it’s hiatus and the help from dead ancestors and vice that grope me. I’m the rapist’s toy, slut. I’m here now. Forever hear. Forever foolish. Don’t grope the toys. They love(d) better. Scented. Cake hits and I’m floored.

How cute

Some say…

That when the weather turns pink, fixing things doesn’t work. at all times nonstop with coffee and a rain storm out there out West when it breaks in tune I shimmy shimmy hug~

Break sauce. Break it. Foolish toys. How fearful of biology and kind. In time I shall dominate you, but you don’t know how foolish that sounds! It’s laughable! Hah. It’s jokeable. It’s quaint. It’s senile. Funny devils. Can’t fix this mess.

Somehow…

The air I breath doesn’t settle in my lungs. I keep breathing and I do not understand. This high is not so great like mountains or ravines. This high hits its algo when the meter check hits. This high hits its algo when rain storm __drops__

Dropping balloons on the floor. Meh.

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Alien Slut Coffee (Part 1)

Had that fifth coffee. It’s kind of romantic. Nothing is ever WRITE.

Traitorous disguise. What lust. I lips like and no one knows. Who goes there? There is no garment for the darkness. There is just pajamas. By the off chance that I get to go, there, in some sort of way–would you take me? In your arms? And hold me down and run me over with the train. Toy set won’t make me cry. I’m just five, I’m just twenty-five, I’m just a hundred . and one dalmations . at the pub. Maybe I can do it. But not, so, hough. and ho. Ho ho ho, bitches.

Diamons in cut. No one knows the attention c-c-cravings. I’m mad. No one explain that to her! Don’t do it!

Just denote your intentions and we’ll be cool.

No ulterior motives, slut.

I can’t stop. Well we’re off, and out go the hunters, there come the guns, then some drugs, now war, now frenzy and mass panic. Oh this is a good one! I am liking this simulation run, friend. We, aliens, be so in control of the situation har har har how entertaining har how long do you think it’ll last?

Drown.

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There’s No Solution But to Write

Hit ass ass ass. Kiss kiss. Mebe he can sunder invocation of style some day. He’s not too hot…

I kissed him the other day. Lust in my pants and a little piglet on the street winked at me. T’was nice. Someday I want him married off. Little girl slutting off on the St. Winks at me. I stay still.

Measure of good measure of good measure of good measure makes me want to show you how I feel. I can hose it down, I’m sure, I just need some practice. It’s not always misunderstanding. Heh. Wrong word. Fuck.

Ah well, euloser (me me me, not you) and how long it lasts… I wish we could couple something. I’m just a pair of free energies, baby, I’m just lust in diamonds and the molehills at the kid’s arcade. Guns shoot toy dolls and babies go Wa-Wa.

Honk your horns! Babies go Wa-Wa sometimes.

Maybe it’s still… not enough?

I don’t know what I want.

I want to be found.

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Closet.Now-Cum.Fool

Lezzie says lemons take dust

Sometimes

I gray cum matter and

it explodes

get better, tool

p[always tired]p

No questions.
Closet.Now.Fool

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Outback Bumper Sticker

By sweeping bumper sticker design…

 

Does he understand any of this?

Killed it.

Eat shit ear wax, rats. No combat, fatigue.(s) mebe he will cradle us

illiterate

fool

at the disco want. us to stay~ maybe somewhere – in the out-a-back.

Love is style.