Well what's next in these rambling diatribes of mine? Perhaps I too will dissolve into a dust of nothingness, the contemptible driving slime of our current state of time and mind. As we sift through our bad chemicals, the brain ruptured conundrums til we find enough time to unwind. Too many screens too many means to our own ends. I'll fight to defend the nature's pretend for our own solace, strapped to the tended bend. Only then.
Pitter-pattered two by tens, rounded out to the next of kin, all so kindred, all so in it to win. Then digress, fall flat out finicky for the solace that we pinned on all our sinned out swims. Beaches abounded upon a wave set motion- fortunes condoned on that which we entertain as though we knew them all along, and of course we'll sing that song. Nah, that's wrong. Rewrite a little history, store it in a contained complement among those pseudo combative continents. Passive aggressive killings done in the name of god knows who, what, where, when. Nine in ten, reconvene, start again. Resonance within the pretend.
Face out amongst a filibuster of republicans, question why you ever said that which you knew to be ever pedestrian. Float physics out in the dead of space, piece togethered by the petulance of waste. Taste fate and know that you knew not aspects of the coveted life with so much distaste that you stand together on a solid ground of haste.
Pasted quips converted, fill them faster than that which we pursued in a limelight disorder. Que the coroner. Disorder.