inium
parapsychotic. remainium? the minimum that remains at the bottom of the glass before being pressured to refill from soiled tap. ramblings while walking, robotic legs and arms that don't swing and connections not being made between cells the bars the copper pan the brain sloshes in. ruminmania. very bodily flesh, more colors inside than out. She must have been wrong, because some people still enjoy sitting at a table with me over drinks. psychopolitcal. romanciminimum. The bare minimum required to earn another's favor or love, different word if pity is what is looked for. Absentia, pre or post. The last few bubbles in the glass. Static objects really don't mind how they're used. The nerve is a lie, because it is so rare in nature. Where else other than on earth can it be found? What is more is more true, what is less is a lie, the great red lie running between the red vault of your chappen thighs. Conspiracy between genital housing tracts. She must have been wrong, because the invisible artist is nevertheless not less now than it was then. In many respects, it is larger than it was. The bones cannot grow from what they were, but the creative urge can. Whatever wants more than just the machinations of the body. And then how am I more widely known? And how have I delighted more people with the weirdness she found uncomfortable if it really was weird? And nothing I have said or written is anything nearly as weird as what half the world is saying or writing right now. It's not wrong or weird to be unable to quit loving. Or, since people are the rarest conglomerations of atoms in the known universe, and not all people love, and no one knows what emotion really is anyway, then love is both more incomprehensible than a man and rarer than intelligent life. She was wrong, because after she said it, not much happened in my life. I didn't break any hearts. Can she say the same? Or is to be careful of women weird? planned to be remainsinminimumregardsinfewerwords more worlds. less words. She must have been wrong.