Sue Shaolin Fin

Triplets from birthday twins, singlets, give it up. Singe? Lets. This was only a dream anyway. Brought to you by you. Then, they twist your arm or break something off somewhere. Is this a recovered memory? Yes. No. Three fingers banging against the other three, more. They do not sweat and deny any and all claims of evaporation. Dying of thirst trapped in a car going nowhere. I don't know why, they just wouldn't get out. Mira, this is dessication, remember. When you make the smart sign, I melt inside. Blue lights go behind my eyelids.

Always Be Choking

Oh, closing then. Oh yeah, he's the foremost cellphone cinematographer working today, you have to see some. To: My favorite POV superstar, all apologies Beauty. ABN what, dutchy go who? 'Bout a hundred billion. Vlad sez: My name is not Travis. Fuck me? No. Fuck you. Saudi gloves for us now, better go ask a driver. Corzini wasn't in a seatbelt because you can't suck off a speeding trooper buckled up. Too pedestrian, old news, east coasty? D, of course. The GSP isn't. A menu of acronyms for your bubble and boredom, your own link; mi corazón is in a stomached sleeper.

I Love It Too

No crushed skulls, who could defend it? Another Mexican cusp industry, god bless 'em. Not that the trifecta has been kind, but what geography and people. You can't hold back demographics or the dreams of the lonely commuted, locked in the long dance of the ringed roads, feeders, almost home, now. Long long vans, gray film, hunted and darting, stunting, locking up, braking, faking, the big swerve. Honk if. Why do I yell so much? You didn't see that? NBC has no shame, and then it remembered...

What Comes After 969

Second Amendment. Second Amendment. Second Amendment. Massacre. Same as it ever, psst, you wanna? Kazakhstan. Kyrgyzstan. Dharamsala. Simla. A Tibet without the ans, unless you mean Han Multiple. You would get it. Bald megalomaniac anyway, his boss too. Cheney or Crawford? Either. Where's Kinji Fukasaku when in need?

Hail Like A Fist

I'm shivering and you're chattering, stupid global warming, the sand still goes back to Mama like radio to ads and payola, even in the land of the dishes; world land trashcan, and the chorus goes "whatever". We'll scrape it up somewhere else. Fine white granules of faux ever, on the softness scale of more human, hard bruxing deal. With it, not pity. Mohs scratched it with a: your oh my god fantasy for him here.

Primed And Pixellated

Holes in his socks and rocks in his head. "I cut off your funding!" New World Balls. Oh they like that CBT. No Swissy telling me what to do. I misspoke when I lied. Google rivals urge it to get fucked. What kind of ein chess master didn't see that coming? Clink slap clink, western headed ho. Returning troops see obstacles to care; cause only their families and empaths do. The people sending them back and back again don't, except when they want more money to pour into the hole, and all because wag the dog says losing isn't losing, until everyone actually admits that it is; so we never can; I never!

Few Many All

Hey welcome to my new crazy, sanity was boring and I can suffer anything and have, but that. So take me to the web, test's to take and Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders to match. Later on: Damnit, I squeak by in every category. Why can't I find my particular bent in here, and why don't I qualify on any of the others? D and SM of MD. Okay, I do get the middle part, but they can't diagnose themselves and there is no MD there, nor a medic in sight. I can say that because I have feet in both worlds, except for my mind, it has atom millions; I'll still take one from every single one before I go.

Perspiring Sounds

Spanish moss, smoking parliament, the long wait for Interpol #3. Pound bang medicate, launch angles spin rates trajectory, blah de fucking. Shush, icy kind. Viral sciatica. Soft, pale squishy things. Reaching inside to massage the heart that's stopped, shorted out by its own racingracing brain. Don't mix those. Don't eat that. You are dehydrated. A gallon of water and tomorrow, sweat lodge visions.

We All Fall Up

In motes we trust. Oh, moats. I don't think so, William G's peopled futures, that's now and tomorrow a cipher; not an Arabic numeral or figure, a code or nonentity, just empty. All the pretty mutations, my only hand over my heart and standing allegiance; they're all so much uglier than us in our old imagined skinsuits, and how much prettier for it? Much more beautiful. A better reptilian. That's where your mind always goes, and the false high, Lordship of the Weapon.

Universal Donor Type

The magnum, thank you, and two cases of the black bottles for my chocolate loving friend. Nae matey noo hoper? Roll it, not over, and don't drop your face and eyes, it brings out the lashes; but they don't need a reason, beyond the planes, beyond fuck you money, beyond obsession. Stuck in 4th with a screen of glassplast pane, a mime nightmare and you can only watch, no mouse, and you can never leave and no one ever comes, even to clean the sneezes; space, allergies, don't even ask; bone density either, I don't talk politics. Sigh, a life of, whistling out for your gone dog in your sleep, what dreams come with that? Vroom Vroom. To bed with yourself Henry!

Friend To Fear

But not like the insiders, best keep your eyes on 'em. How fitting the etymology in the naming of the texas railroad commission, 'specially the railroading part. A Cuban and some Port? Right away your gassy highness'. Yessir, you surely can count on those residential sheep to carry all the weight, plus they're all neutered so you can shear them again next session, season, "open meeting". In god we trust they'll fuck ya. Heretic? No your eye looks fine to me. Psst, like peanuts?