Sunday, 11 October 2009
My obsolete levers are linked to ferrous devices in the mornings. Sorry about the prolixity of hate-plurals. A dissolving picture of an enclosure (?) haunts with its thin soundtrack. Fashionistas walked all over us this morning, hitting us with their tubes of pink light. A symbol of love is that it grows hairier as the deepest corner is reached, you lean sideways to evade the laughter-bucket. A continuous future can only be assured by the licentious organism that sold us. That frat -pack! Years climbing up and down fluorescent funnels of tunnels and the present tense is breaking up, as genders are added up and the black snow fills the bottom of my mouth.
Hence, a complete restoration of this text isn't recommended