Take a listen, you will not be disappointed
I bit my nails and poised with a poisonous glare. Parked on the lawn with Parkinson lamination. The space between Is an enlightening mine field, with boulders and sanitation workers, present with bright orange flags. The purple lighter has now ascended to the throne as a Pharaoh. It was an educated guess, but I think the semi sweet chocolate caravan marked bamboo grave markers with acetone Demi gods.
Pepper grinder fantasies send me to cloud city. I really love the way your breasts look in milk and honey. Tarred and feathered in Jupiters rings.
I brought two cups of tea
One for just my ghost and me
And settled beyond the desperate ritual of sunrise
There was a sunspot on the moon
in my throat was a baboon balloon
Clawing its way from a magazine high rise
The noose I made was ticklish and tasted like chicken
That was made on occasion
In a competition
In a reality kitchen
On reality television
With multiple stab wounds
It was hard to mistake the intent
Argued the opposite was true from an accident
Please please please
Believe me when I say I’m not indifferent
To wagon wheel salutations
And Activision activism
I parked the blue cactus
On top of silly string
And demanded the evil to respond to the exorcise
It was like riding a bike with no handle bars
No handle bars
And beat on the brat
With no dark lord of the sith to hold me back
I was fathom and I cried until I was disqualified
Ask the southern princess if King Koopa rejected the Resurrectionist
When she ate wrongful termination sandwiches
And farmed hands free addict membranes
And then bottled their own radioactive lemonade
Jennifer and I caught the brisk breeze on Halloween
But now I’m alone in my bed
With two cups of tea
For just my ghost and me
#proof of #UFO #extraterrestrial #real #Arizona #Phoenix #Southmountain #lights
@amberpocalypse #amber #pack o #lips can you pass the #tacos #athf #turkatron #Nihilarmy
The cubic spider report was due this Saturday, but the cables in my throat bound me to silence. Deliberate destitute degenerates, focused upon the knife like a disco pharmacy. I was dumb in disguise and I thought you were a delicacy. But your flesh was not mine to own, but I want it.
Forgive me my love, for as the serpent bareth a head rest, I was in opium shock. In this twilight ceremony, you pulled the page of cups from the silver ware dresser. There was this Moody bird who kept sharing the secrets of the universe with field nice
Heaven was another tuxedo in style. No more rápido, they raved with chloroform head gaskets. Seismic shifts in paper mill lunch baskets. She was in green and never looked so lost and serene. Who has a TV in every room? Scales and turpentine form telepathic mumbo jumbo, to alleviate pressure on the subdermal plexus stand.
Awkward orchids, disturb shamans in their nests. Dangerous fragrances, align the planets to sing songs of angelic gestures. Campfire hallucinations prison sex tapestries. The big hand on the little hand, and the penal gland on a baby grand trampoline. Service with a smile. I want you to belong to me again. I need you to belong to me again.
It was a solstice of sorts and the peanut gallery was flooded with goat blood handkerchiefs. I was the first born, the sun god, and the rolled lobster skin. Akin to a fly swatter fin, and decorated with highly plastic and contagious alcohol swabs. The land was fertile and rainbow flavored. When the dust littered my non secular oculars, and I emerged from a crescent shaped coffin, there was diamond eyed evidence of a metaphysical detour among the holiday whore shoppers.
Machines are pretty with remorse. I rang the door bell and hid behind the polyethylene methamphetamine trampoline. All the way from Tripoli and still the very notion of common sense is self centered and egotistical. Bargain bin seafood lovers, play harpsichords every time the wind cries Mary. But on second thought, where was this great potato famine and why didn’t the police chief play poker. I mean, what was so wrong with wanting to borrow that cab in Manhattan in lieu of dragging our knuckles 30 blocks to Penn. Your systematic overture of indentured servants, has plagued the chicken soup coups for half a century. The rebels staged a coup with eggplant colored shields and spelled accident backwards on every Zoloft commercial.
I was among the lucky few to play in the acid rain while stop signs made tourists nervous. Yes, in fact, it was true. You and whose army will be responsible for the myriad of talented sweat shop supervisors, not connected to the internet at this time. Even solid objects used can openers to separate the truth from the bullshit in the Holy Bible. The hallway was an obsessive mutant. Pried the third eye and the angels showed up with trash bags.
Images of fallen rock monsters are strewn across the valley. Instant breakfast feather caps, lay tiny eggs inside the lips of mythical beasts. Only Pompeii knew for sure. If I was to guess on who we are and what our purpose is, I would have to answer with one word and one word only. Oh, you were expecting me to tell you the secret? That is for fortune tellers to tell you. That is the non thinking hair thinning rat tail trophy. Amazingly enough, 7 minutes into the past, I realized I had done this before and served gelatin to junkyard dogs.
This was the climax of syntax. If the stapler gun was used in Hell’s Kitchen, then Potters Field would have a billboard that read “No vacancy” for the vacationing zombie immigrants. Grave stones no know boundaries or frequencies. Like I am being saved from running like a roach in liquid nails. My feet are callous from years of eating bread pudding. What average savage cup of Joe, could make the TV apparitions speak through the weather vane?
The balloon didn’t just start bouncing, it was vertical with chocolate tusks and formaldehyde sock animals. In the uterus, there were several signs of sepsis. Don’t worry baby Girl, I’ll be your super man in a glory hole. Upon take off, I noticed I was in the full upright position. There was no time for orangutan collectivism. The television was all the proof they needed.
The coal miners room key, were among the items fastened like a donut oven. At this time there is nothing to perceive that is of any self with. Someone failed at paying the power bill and they shut off the light at the other end of the tunnel.
Without the sun, newspapers became useless. Beyond a smorgasbord landscape, ritualistic slave traders used picket fences to solve the senator. He of all citizens should learn when to curtain call and when to curtsy. The black ash wore a circuit board for corrective spectacles.
Wheeling the gurney into the morgue had to be the most peculiar moment of my life.
Tune in, turn up, and drop out
Something not new, but definitely improved
Mochi yes #Nihilarmy #sushi #instafood (at Hana Japanese Eatery)