Match the source formatting. Music and smoke in neutral vibes, where colors bounce off the walls in bland color. Beers down the hatch in a fresh full fridge. Speaking in rhymes without trying, much easier than when thought out. That openness. That ability to translate the thoughts at the quickest possible burn speed. Neurons firing all around at faster velocity. Closer to the speed of light. Closer to god. Contemplate big courageous decision. Which atmosphere to enter. Where will I tread lightly, with enough effort, maybe summer classes, that momentum is killed and so is the work ethic, my gosh, this can't happen, I must remain busy reading and bettering myself in as many ways as humanly possible, turn on the after burners, and the fireworks will erupt from our fingertips like wishes granted. Hailing comets in a storm drain. Down where the garbage flows. And government rats crawl over the ashes. Hope dwindling. Sheer minutes to spare before concrete dries. The ink pen stops. All doubt is diminished and a full acceptance of future role happens. No Seattle connections. Barely looking into it but if it happens and the process is sent back into my court I will call the contacts get the localities and dig for fossils. Sort out the deserted coordinates onto a map. Translating the landscape in romantic swirls of color and well-thought detail. The shading on the naked woman is museum worthy. This is a culmination of days deprived and unsettled, the forbidden fruit shining just out of reach, at full extension, not enough, fall off the ladder and spiral into uncertainty, dark and awe-inspiring... Where the cup fills up and, overflowing, spills. The result of a pretty, happy mess. The distractions disappear somehow as mistakes are chronicled. It is about pushing the body and the mind to the extreme outer limits. No reason for cautionary tales. Throw caution to the wind. Wake up all of your neighbors in your neighborhood. Rattle picture frames of departed relatives from the mantle. Above the fireplace. The chimney blocked from circulation. A body perhaps preventing smoke to exit. And the family dies in their sleep. Of sugar plums and diabetes. Of nightmares and angels, beckoning for eye lids to open to extreme the full potential of your discovered dream world. Nightingales building nests in the corner of English classroom. Yelling hooligans on balcony, playing ukelele and spilling the beans, drunk and amateur, a facade, mist evaporating, like a steam-dried, massage parlor bath house. A step towards drastic changes in the evolutionary sequence of mankind. Creatures adapting to the woods. To the wilderness of city existence and pressures from media, from satellite, from liars in red or blue, with white faces, drained of color, previously flushed, a change in color like change of seasons, rippling tidal markings, moving buoys slowly across the surface of water. The mirror glistens and reflect, blinding truth and reality. This is what we look at, no time for offensive anatomy. You and I are built of the same basic pieces, the same formula came true, and we walk upright, with a care in the world for an opened use to play the guitar. I hypothesize that A. afarensis adapted the trait of bipedalism due to selective environmental pressures requiring knowledge of instrument. They beat rocks together to make rhythms and they still echo somewhere. In some limestone cave system, where sink holes pull cars and telephone wires into, and under, the ground. Caverns where modern fossils begin to decay. Leaving only radioactive elements. Singing off the deep skinned knee, knee deep, forever, the free play of this free form life form. No one would understand and that is okay and that is fine. I spent very little time reexamining the writing to make it sound like prose or verse. No thought there. This is a different venting and damn it. Someone might be interested one day. Hold the clock and set your watch. here we go boys and girls. The progress begins with a simple step, continues with a moderate step, and ends, diminishing into blue dust, with the most progressive step, of expertise. Of reckless abandonment. Full adaptation to environment. We can only tell their bones apart. What about their personalities? Their quirks?
Friday, March 30, 2012
march 30
no meat on fridays for the eastern and stringent religious sect. all of those sects are the same and when someone says they had sex last night know it is a lie. first question the circumstances and return to the void. need to keep my eyes open
Match the source formatting. Music and smoke in neutral vibes, where colors bounce off the walls in bland color. Beers down the hatch in a fresh full fridge. Speaking in rhymes without trying, much easier than when thought out. That openness. That ability to translate the thoughts at the quickest possible burn speed. Neurons firing all around at faster velocity. Closer to the speed of light. Closer to god. Contemplate big courageous decision. Which atmosphere to enter. Where will I tread lightly, with enough effort, maybe summer classes, that momentum is killed and so is the work ethic, my gosh, this can't happen, I must remain busy reading and bettering myself in as many ways as humanly possible, turn on the after burners, and the fireworks will erupt from our fingertips like wishes granted. Hailing comets in a storm drain. Down where the garbage flows. And government rats crawl over the ashes. Hope dwindling. Sheer minutes to spare before concrete dries. The ink pen stops. All doubt is diminished and a full acceptance of future role happens. No Seattle connections. Barely looking into it but if it happens and the process is sent back into my court I will call the contacts get the localities and dig for fossils. Sort out the deserted coordinates onto a map. Translating the landscape in romantic swirls of color and well-thought detail. The shading on the naked woman is museum worthy. This is a culmination of days deprived and unsettled, the forbidden fruit shining just out of reach, at full extension, not enough, fall off the ladder and spiral into uncertainty, dark and awe-inspiring... Where the cup fills up and, overflowing, spills. The result of a pretty, happy mess. The distractions disappear somehow as mistakes are chronicled. It is about pushing the body and the mind to the extreme outer limits. No reason for cautionary tales. Throw caution to the wind. Wake up all of your neighbors in your neighborhood. Rattle picture frames of departed relatives from the mantle. Above the fireplace. The chimney blocked from circulation. A body perhaps preventing smoke to exit. And the family dies in their sleep. Of sugar plums and diabetes. Of nightmares and angels, beckoning for eye lids to open to extreme the full potential of your discovered dream world. Nightingales building nests in the corner of English classroom. Yelling hooligans on balcony, playing ukelele and spilling the beans, drunk and amateur, a facade, mist evaporating, like a steam-dried, massage parlor bath house. A step towards drastic changes in the evolutionary sequence of mankind. Creatures adapting to the woods. To the wilderness of city existence and pressures from media, from satellite, from liars in red or blue, with white faces, drained of color, previously flushed, a change in color like change of seasons, rippling tidal markings, moving buoys slowly across the surface of water. The mirror glistens and reflect, blinding truth and reality. This is what we look at, no time for offensive anatomy. You and I are built of the same basic pieces, the same formula came true, and we walk upright, with a care in the world for an opened use to play the guitar. I hypothesize that A. afarensis adapted the trait of bipedalism due to selective environmental pressures requiring knowledge of instrument. They beat rocks together to make rhythms and they still echo somewhere. In some limestone cave system, where sink holes pull cars and telephone wires into, and under, the ground. Caverns where modern fossils begin to decay. Leaving only radioactive elements. Singing off the deep skinned knee, knee deep, forever, the free play of this free form life form. No one would understand and that is okay and that is fine. I spent very little time reexamining the writing to make it sound like prose or verse. No thought there. This is a different venting and damn it. Someone might be interested one day. Hold the clock and set your watch. here we go boys and girls. The progress begins with a simple step, continues with a moderate step, and ends, diminishing into blue dust, with the most progressive step, of expertise. Of reckless abandonment. Full adaptation to environment. We can only tell their bones apart. What about their personalities? Their quirks?
Match the source formatting. Music and smoke in neutral vibes, where colors bounce off the walls in bland color. Beers down the hatch in a fresh full fridge. Speaking in rhymes without trying, much easier than when thought out. That openness. That ability to translate the thoughts at the quickest possible burn speed. Neurons firing all around at faster velocity. Closer to the speed of light. Closer to god. Contemplate big courageous decision. Which atmosphere to enter. Where will I tread lightly, with enough effort, maybe summer classes, that momentum is killed and so is the work ethic, my gosh, this can't happen, I must remain busy reading and bettering myself in as many ways as humanly possible, turn on the after burners, and the fireworks will erupt from our fingertips like wishes granted. Hailing comets in a storm drain. Down where the garbage flows. And government rats crawl over the ashes. Hope dwindling. Sheer minutes to spare before concrete dries. The ink pen stops. All doubt is diminished and a full acceptance of future role happens. No Seattle connections. Barely looking into it but if it happens and the process is sent back into my court I will call the contacts get the localities and dig for fossils. Sort out the deserted coordinates onto a map. Translating the landscape in romantic swirls of color and well-thought detail. The shading on the naked woman is museum worthy. This is a culmination of days deprived and unsettled, the forbidden fruit shining just out of reach, at full extension, not enough, fall off the ladder and spiral into uncertainty, dark and awe-inspiring... Where the cup fills up and, overflowing, spills. The result of a pretty, happy mess. The distractions disappear somehow as mistakes are chronicled. It is about pushing the body and the mind to the extreme outer limits. No reason for cautionary tales. Throw caution to the wind. Wake up all of your neighbors in your neighborhood. Rattle picture frames of departed relatives from the mantle. Above the fireplace. The chimney blocked from circulation. A body perhaps preventing smoke to exit. And the family dies in their sleep. Of sugar plums and diabetes. Of nightmares and angels, beckoning for eye lids to open to extreme the full potential of your discovered dream world. Nightingales building nests in the corner of English classroom. Yelling hooligans on balcony, playing ukelele and spilling the beans, drunk and amateur, a facade, mist evaporating, like a steam-dried, massage parlor bath house. A step towards drastic changes in the evolutionary sequence of mankind. Creatures adapting to the woods. To the wilderness of city existence and pressures from media, from satellite, from liars in red or blue, with white faces, drained of color, previously flushed, a change in color like change of seasons, rippling tidal markings, moving buoys slowly across the surface of water. The mirror glistens and reflect, blinding truth and reality. This is what we look at, no time for offensive anatomy. You and I are built of the same basic pieces, the same formula came true, and we walk upright, with a care in the world for an opened use to play the guitar. I hypothesize that A. afarensis adapted the trait of bipedalism due to selective environmental pressures requiring knowledge of instrument. They beat rocks together to make rhythms and they still echo somewhere. In some limestone cave system, where sink holes pull cars and telephone wires into, and under, the ground. Caverns where modern fossils begin to decay. Leaving only radioactive elements. Singing off the deep skinned knee, knee deep, forever, the free play of this free form life form. No one would understand and that is okay and that is fine. I spent very little time reexamining the writing to make it sound like prose or verse. No thought there. This is a different venting and damn it. Someone might be interested one day. Hold the clock and set your watch. here we go boys and girls. The progress begins with a simple step, continues with a moderate step, and ends, diminishing into blue dust, with the most progressive step, of expertise. Of reckless abandonment. Full adaptation to environment. We can only tell their bones apart. What about their personalities? Their quirks?
