| planting_seeds_for_positronic_nipples | ||
| velocipede rider of the 1890s |
My chowder is disheveled, my aorta lies crumbled on the remains of the dais. You told me that i need never fear the pudding and that your hadrons would collide serenely over the infinite pork roast, but these were all lies designed to lull me into an inflated sense of my own prawnography. Lesser men would have torn down these sculptures long before they had slid so far off of their crackers, but dark matter demands that i bleed out the creeping inertia from this hole i've been kicking in my third eye. In the meantime, do not miss, fall in, or get any on you. gazpacho and good night |
080917 |