the love of curse, in an unfond existence
this is the phildate. the philupdate. fillupdate. Thisnis the date you will be filled. its 777, all good monkeys MUST go to heaven. Although, how do I attempt to find the words when I've never said what I'm saying?
So in this life, be it mine is the only one...really...I've been up and down. As many aerodynamic objects and orbital theories, but here with me, things fall different...because they have always been falling since the ever-after and will continue to do so. But lately the pull of the suction at the ends of my ears at the ends of my town at the ends of my hope no longer put me at the end of a rope. My rope. What I'm trying to say is, well, that thoughts of ones own personagies are like people walking away from each other on downstaircases. I've come to find anyway. It's a sort of buttress that careens my mental labor. Perpetual stuff, that tails off leaving my pelvic muscles restless and the point at the end of my spine that people break sitting down to hard on, a bit jilted. There's this letter now with me, that connects to label and a face, a pretty one, it's in the top of the alphaomegabet, and so now when I imminently pass it in almost every word and vowel sound...she make me pleasant. There's a lot to be said of the simple pleasantness' of up and down and the motions we make betwixt.
I need to take better care of my guitar.
Sound manipulation is also caressing my haunches while falling up and down, like so many aerodynamic objects and orbital theories, but here with me, vibrations ring differently in mediums. Mediums, hardly easy. Magnetic tape and tracks of spool and spindle fiberwire own my existence. That and the Lion king soundtrack. "be Prepared" by jeremy irons is a winner. So what I'm trying to say is that the things I'm trying to say while going up and down these days position themselves on the plank of my ends, and teeter as I walk by and balk at their potential and their folly. Better days, I find, are todays...feeling that hourly anyways. My friends that I count now longer garnish my finger and toe calculations because, as it is, I can't seem them on the horizon. I know they're there, but my eyes are just to weak. Who ever would have thought that the simplicity of sight, which I take for granted, would no longer allow me those fleshly frames of old in new summers. Newer frames suffice, but they replace and oft' create neoshadeshapes. Newer lovers suffice, but they replace and oft' leave the victim lingering in a corner of their mind (cross and lincoln to be exact...if we're talking asphault here). So what am I talking here, what is worth speaking through this void of dead pixels? Nothing, nothing at all, that is, if something is to be said.
i am the love of...so let I bring myself to your own love, then set me to shore.
p.s.- if I found jesus' magic DNA in a fossiled mosquito I would not harbor ill feelings, because it's really the sun. I'd sell it to make rent.
BURRITOS AND BURRITOS
So in this life, be it mine is the only one...really...I've been up and down. As many aerodynamic objects and orbital theories, but here with me, things fall different...because they have always been falling since the ever-after and will continue to do so. But lately the pull of the suction at the ends of my ears at the ends of my town at the ends of my hope no longer put me at the end of a rope. My rope. What I'm trying to say is, well, that thoughts of ones own personagies are like people walking away from each other on downstaircases. I've come to find anyway. It's a sort of buttress that careens my mental labor. Perpetual stuff, that tails off leaving my pelvic muscles restless and the point at the end of my spine that people break sitting down to hard on, a bit jilted. There's this letter now with me, that connects to label and a face, a pretty one, it's in the top of the alphaomegabet, and so now when I imminently pass it in almost every word and vowel sound...she make me pleasant. There's a lot to be said of the simple pleasantness' of up and down and the motions we make betwixt.
I need to take better care of my guitar.
Sound manipulation is also caressing my haunches while falling up and down, like so many aerodynamic objects and orbital theories, but here with me, vibrations ring differently in mediums. Mediums, hardly easy. Magnetic tape and tracks of spool and spindle fiberwire own my existence. That and the Lion king soundtrack. "be Prepared" by jeremy irons is a winner. So what I'm trying to say is that the things I'm trying to say while going up and down these days position themselves on the plank of my ends, and teeter as I walk by and balk at their potential and their folly. Better days, I find, are todays...feeling that hourly anyways. My friends that I count now longer garnish my finger and toe calculations because, as it is, I can't seem them on the horizon. I know they're there, but my eyes are just to weak. Who ever would have thought that the simplicity of sight, which I take for granted, would no longer allow me those fleshly frames of old in new summers. Newer frames suffice, but they replace and oft' create neoshadeshapes. Newer lovers suffice, but they replace and oft' leave the victim lingering in a corner of their mind (cross and lincoln to be exact...if we're talking asphault here). So what am I talking here, what is worth speaking through this void of dead pixels? Nothing, nothing at all, that is, if something is to be said.
i am the love of...so let I bring myself to your own love, then set me to shore.
p.s.- if I found jesus' magic DNA in a fossiled mosquito I would not harbor ill feelings, because it's really the sun. I'd sell it to make rent.
BURRITOS AND BURRITOS