All batteries are charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber — I’m about to walk the spiral and more! Ladytron is carrying this note of irony back to my pals.
Joop is not here. Inexistence is left over. Doors are left open as raw theism was a main event. Secrets of satire went free of the situation (music) and structured sky, complicities (an ear for sex).
A contextual effect (another procedure) becomes more fearless (less indiscernible) when innocence, dance and one’s acrobatic partner cross boundaries of codes. Codes of boundaries. Crossed lines scored from beneath.
I notice your underwear in a denomination marked with anti-jealousy. But they pill. Yeah, that’s funny, take some of mine.
I hated this luau. I killed for you.
Why’d you bother?
The Bronx looked used up. Mr Evandro had a life that seemed poetic, occupationally.
Joop sports a motorcycle jacket w/ a feathered shrug.
Ode on hold a sec. There’s a world truce out there (frog protection) ..
We can remember when wisdom lay in de Staël turmoil, a title for the ‘rhetorical’ surface where middlemen / women are loathed today. Owing our words makes everything phenomenal. (Our addendum is in the mouth.)
The French Suites get lighter, immune to desire & intimacy in the grips of mistaken identity.
I’ll lead you to the border. Just call before you go.
Officials had had enough of fish. (It might be better being a big tetra instead of a little one.) Next day Ed took a new job in the equivalent of an education cafeteria. Growing up fish evolve. It’s a measure of the increasing clout of fish this message strikes you like a fin. This is a message! aspects of which covered debts dropping glassy eyeballs in fake vomit.
The sky aspect above the new moon is a flung, shorter hue of our echelon’s ideology. Hmmm, it seems. Dividing vendettas, your feet never come back.