(no subject)
i broke a string theory, which didn't affect me. six-six-six grade math was the end of my tragectory. unless you count three point one four one five nine. i said uh three point one four one five nine. circumfrences as sedatives. pi r square afrodesiacs, step step step step, the muppets up on the meecrophone. i float float float float, rocking the eight track tapes. and the underwater sound is just what the producer, originally, had in mind, according to the new music snob monthly mag, where they circle jerk to the rhythems of the free jazz. free? free? you're free to choke to death on the bile you're spitting. the style you're biting. the pretensious shit demon you're aurally servicing.