Parfington
09-26-2015, 08:28 PM
his crumbling greedy notepad scrabbled deeply with the scratchings of middlebreathing slandermouthed constables of inclusion, it appeared that the rat was afoot, the great scheming screaming bahamut of reason annotated with the diecast protocol of solitude.
his black box was ready for extraction, pulling the scalding gold out of the rectified rectums of rambunctious rapscallions, unreasonably shuffling their cards while their mirrors placate the masses. their upskirting mannerisms only breeding deep chains of slathering lust callously pulsating under the rapid absconsion of the tiny balls of feces that clung to his beard in retroformal irreverence, postulators agreed that many tribulations were ahead of all involved in the matter. Towards the end of the event there was much mention of the tractability of the wenches being questionable so the movement of the food was essential to establish a reign on the clubfet spaldrings, cramming themselves into lines waiting for the meat chopstress and her scowling grimace, the taint of cannibalism, her.
As they were staying on for a while to breathe the lipstained marbled meat flaying their umbrella'd hairs, waiting to twitch with this bump and that, crabby only on thursdays but when the reality struck, it wasnt anyone's guess, since there wasnt anything to see to begin with.
I couldnt create the beginning without starting at the end so we have to establish a base ground before i can let you in further, i can't allow you to think i'm some sort of irregular introspective voice, narrating some acid trip without menacing clemency in the triapsing of the elves, cacophony is a tasty delicacy in the artistic world, and clamouring for the dice to roll for your fortune is a clamour indeed. Sometimes sand gets locked in your head and you make it into a human pearl.
Preach on brother, your manacled legs are only sources of extreme freedom for my thirsty tum to quench itself upon, reeds climbing high as my barbed velcro chest clings to the loops of the woolen spear, unheard of in societies hindered by reason and law and climbing reeds, high reeds with men with barbed velcro chests running about, messing everything up for the rest of them. you cant be expected to maintain consistency when there's nothing to say in the first place, so when there's really nothing to say the only consistency you can maintain is the disinterest of those involved, and that is a measly way to treat a preferred customer, one who has already bent forward for my probing ground of time wasting lacklustre nonsense, and only one who has the merit to listen to this has the glandular fortitude to accuse the world of anything that has to do with jelly beans or gummy bears. i think the fact that you're reading this now is that you're either involved or amused at the mistakes.
Springing forward for one more trip to grasp the mighty hands that drip from the ceiling as the white face pushes through the latex of my screen, the dust begins to hum and buzz with ozone, ready to pop out, energy, tasting it on your tongue before out it goes into a singularity, sucked together by paste and spit, willed together in the blind spot, and welded by the black engines of your nightmares, infinite biting cogs eating inwards, endlessly sucking in and in, the ouroboros with waste, expanding one and eating itself in the process, growing yet being feasted upon.
Lengthwise i'd have to say it'll need to be bowl cut around the rim of my shoulders, i need to look good for this party, Jacobo, and i won't be ****ed with. no no sir, i would no **** with you sir, you will kill them. they will suck your dicks like the waterfalling to your knees weeping when you walk through the door. Just the way i like it Richie.
Thank you sir.
Chapter 8.
Lambshanks ferretted outter therapod, squirrelling owltiger echidnescence, gorrilanus.
When will the screaming end? i've been waiting for so long for you to say those words to me in the hollow of my, our, your mind, what sense is ownership in a business built for no one, in a system where no one leads, one must only act to save the dick.
Where is the answer to the age old question, "there isnt any soap in this channel" - Gumby
Palindromic allowances only bring gestures of noncommittal confirmation, and the bill passes, no new taxies without prostitution becoming a state ratified constitutional institution, where loans are distributed to the purloined homes of those who were in the unions before the civil war... well i'm getting ahead of myself, it's all on account of the newest release of the websters dictionary on the 30th of April, 1972, when the clearing house publishers awarded gretta jones her 48,396$ in small unmarked bills.
The limousine pulled up to the parking lot, and several armed men ran up, heaving as the presidential motorcade made the daily loop for the secret service. "Keep those dogs running, i want them to be able to protect me," Nixon said.
Luring in the stamina of the campaign, the willows only sifted through a small percentage of the stench of the open sewer main upwind of the conference hall. Many of the staunch citizens approached their seats with a grimace of disgust and a gush of vomit splashing against the back of their throats, wondering what they'll have to agree to that day just to keep their fingers inside. Little did they realize that their hair cuts were in vain, and it was simply an execution of an aboriginal at the expense of the high royal society of Lieught Scleoupo. There was much revulsion at the sight of the blood of the native, which always served to titillate the impressionable revolutionaries, who had so much to prove with so little power to do it, they typically backed down from dissenting parties on a rate of 30% after that, which is tweaked magnificently later on in life when stocks are established to their social secutiry numbers.
when picasso trained himself how to unlearn his art, i shall take the whimsy of madness and curl it to my whispy dreams, and kiss the starlight with my eyemouths.
what is the point of sublimation when there isnt a caboose to rifle through in the calumnious lessee, praddling with their tails swinging in the clockheaded breeze.
King Solomon poked his head out of the room with a rope around his neck, and the crowds looked with wonder as he mysteriously turned purple. Eventually his father came about and commanded him to be well, and all was well. Lethargic coriander seeds languished in the heat of the small jar in the cupboard, and there was no hope for them to be spread into the foamy languid tonsil soups of the crabtree brilliances.
Importune offerings left only the leveed scallions of orbital squarings in the clamp of tripoli.
those who murmur in the mud of sin, waiting for the whirlwind to come,
beg others to join in their fun,
as misery loves company.
creeds torn over on the rest of the plan, prostituting to the clapping of the crowd, the dollar, measly as it is potently portentous, blissfully unaware as the brass tacks stab into their trenchfeet, just as the spaldrings before them, they too felt as the rampant orchids blossomed, and the tuberculous stab of barnacles and whelks, prodding wastrel voices in their gullets, raping their peace.
a gamboling pod of seething humans, clipping along on their jumbles of ore. the scorched wind licking at their torn garments, the sun glinting from their buggutted glasses. Fierce reefs of thorns zip from horizon to horizon over the centipedes of earthly stubble. Claps of garbage plume after the fact.
press the button, end us all, save us from this ghastly pall,
willows deep, widows weep, canvas rent for what mystique,
chambers bound in cloudy russet, dripping from the witch's teat,
call it down, this predator, bring it down, our creator.
slash and gash and lust for more,
save this earth from cerebral bore,
cast not sorrow shadow grave,
your purpose your right pervade
ghastly boilsglow **** and foment
peace on earth, to save from torment.
All of them were waiting for me, eyes trained, screening the gas for the fish, seething splash. Slim days only left without the credibility. who can even breakfast?
cast not yourself into the warrior's outlet,
death comes soon enough eh? the cackling skull scuttling on your secret nerves. slaps as your flesh is torn away, and returned to you, a coat well fit but never the same. Presently, corruption seeps from you, creepies trickle along your toes and the pestulence is wrung from you. drums, we are. we are the beat of god's great orchestra!
they ride on tractors daily, youngsters that should be reading, out chewing grass in the leaves and cold, fill up the tank and snag the cash from parents and clusters.
the wet velvet slushed underfoot. don't cry.
Subjugation of the willing is only a job for the poor of heart enough to stop themselves. Fear is an oil on which all the engines in the world turn. Claustrophobia is the number one reason for infant death. Playing with heartstrings and their own gets caught i suppose,
unknown asthma. Visions of solidity in fear, grasping for a connection, but no, only the rip of blackness on asphalt. Long snotlines, fat with the rub of the foot unhinged, the ankle aligned with the dancer's, sleeping in positions that one sees only in statues, the dance is not a form of expression of the self, but the body exposing the sameness of all of us. lame even feel the twinge of the dance in music if it fancies, and the body takes these positions in luxury, in tension.
The yawn came, like an onion in the mouth, tears rise unbidden, broken only after it seems the jaw would dislocate. the void of playful sedimentia and self tricksterism, pranks of all pranks and unheeded addictions, the void now filled from time to time,
but never truly full
the heart sinks
like a rock
a stone.
Prattling can only get you nowhere, and they have never left this place.
his black box was ready for extraction, pulling the scalding gold out of the rectified rectums of rambunctious rapscallions, unreasonably shuffling their cards while their mirrors placate the masses. their upskirting mannerisms only breeding deep chains of slathering lust callously pulsating under the rapid absconsion of the tiny balls of feces that clung to his beard in retroformal irreverence, postulators agreed that many tribulations were ahead of all involved in the matter. Towards the end of the event there was much mention of the tractability of the wenches being questionable so the movement of the food was essential to establish a reign on the clubfet spaldrings, cramming themselves into lines waiting for the meat chopstress and her scowling grimace, the taint of cannibalism, her.
As they were staying on for a while to breathe the lipstained marbled meat flaying their umbrella'd hairs, waiting to twitch with this bump and that, crabby only on thursdays but when the reality struck, it wasnt anyone's guess, since there wasnt anything to see to begin with.
I couldnt create the beginning without starting at the end so we have to establish a base ground before i can let you in further, i can't allow you to think i'm some sort of irregular introspective voice, narrating some acid trip without menacing clemency in the triapsing of the elves, cacophony is a tasty delicacy in the artistic world, and clamouring for the dice to roll for your fortune is a clamour indeed. Sometimes sand gets locked in your head and you make it into a human pearl.
Preach on brother, your manacled legs are only sources of extreme freedom for my thirsty tum to quench itself upon, reeds climbing high as my barbed velcro chest clings to the loops of the woolen spear, unheard of in societies hindered by reason and law and climbing reeds, high reeds with men with barbed velcro chests running about, messing everything up for the rest of them. you cant be expected to maintain consistency when there's nothing to say in the first place, so when there's really nothing to say the only consistency you can maintain is the disinterest of those involved, and that is a measly way to treat a preferred customer, one who has already bent forward for my probing ground of time wasting lacklustre nonsense, and only one who has the merit to listen to this has the glandular fortitude to accuse the world of anything that has to do with jelly beans or gummy bears. i think the fact that you're reading this now is that you're either involved or amused at the mistakes.
Springing forward for one more trip to grasp the mighty hands that drip from the ceiling as the white face pushes through the latex of my screen, the dust begins to hum and buzz with ozone, ready to pop out, energy, tasting it on your tongue before out it goes into a singularity, sucked together by paste and spit, willed together in the blind spot, and welded by the black engines of your nightmares, infinite biting cogs eating inwards, endlessly sucking in and in, the ouroboros with waste, expanding one and eating itself in the process, growing yet being feasted upon.
Lengthwise i'd have to say it'll need to be bowl cut around the rim of my shoulders, i need to look good for this party, Jacobo, and i won't be ****ed with. no no sir, i would no **** with you sir, you will kill them. they will suck your dicks like the waterfalling to your knees weeping when you walk through the door. Just the way i like it Richie.
Thank you sir.
Chapter 8.
Lambshanks ferretted outter therapod, squirrelling owltiger echidnescence, gorrilanus.
When will the screaming end? i've been waiting for so long for you to say those words to me in the hollow of my, our, your mind, what sense is ownership in a business built for no one, in a system where no one leads, one must only act to save the dick.
Where is the answer to the age old question, "there isnt any soap in this channel" - Gumby
Palindromic allowances only bring gestures of noncommittal confirmation, and the bill passes, no new taxies without prostitution becoming a state ratified constitutional institution, where loans are distributed to the purloined homes of those who were in the unions before the civil war... well i'm getting ahead of myself, it's all on account of the newest release of the websters dictionary on the 30th of April, 1972, when the clearing house publishers awarded gretta jones her 48,396$ in small unmarked bills.
The limousine pulled up to the parking lot, and several armed men ran up, heaving as the presidential motorcade made the daily loop for the secret service. "Keep those dogs running, i want them to be able to protect me," Nixon said.
Luring in the stamina of the campaign, the willows only sifted through a small percentage of the stench of the open sewer main upwind of the conference hall. Many of the staunch citizens approached their seats with a grimace of disgust and a gush of vomit splashing against the back of their throats, wondering what they'll have to agree to that day just to keep their fingers inside. Little did they realize that their hair cuts were in vain, and it was simply an execution of an aboriginal at the expense of the high royal society of Lieught Scleoupo. There was much revulsion at the sight of the blood of the native, which always served to titillate the impressionable revolutionaries, who had so much to prove with so little power to do it, they typically backed down from dissenting parties on a rate of 30% after that, which is tweaked magnificently later on in life when stocks are established to their social secutiry numbers.
when picasso trained himself how to unlearn his art, i shall take the whimsy of madness and curl it to my whispy dreams, and kiss the starlight with my eyemouths.
what is the point of sublimation when there isnt a caboose to rifle through in the calumnious lessee, praddling with their tails swinging in the clockheaded breeze.
King Solomon poked his head out of the room with a rope around his neck, and the crowds looked with wonder as he mysteriously turned purple. Eventually his father came about and commanded him to be well, and all was well. Lethargic coriander seeds languished in the heat of the small jar in the cupboard, and there was no hope for them to be spread into the foamy languid tonsil soups of the crabtree brilliances.
Importune offerings left only the leveed scallions of orbital squarings in the clamp of tripoli.
those who murmur in the mud of sin, waiting for the whirlwind to come,
beg others to join in their fun,
as misery loves company.
creeds torn over on the rest of the plan, prostituting to the clapping of the crowd, the dollar, measly as it is potently portentous, blissfully unaware as the brass tacks stab into their trenchfeet, just as the spaldrings before them, they too felt as the rampant orchids blossomed, and the tuberculous stab of barnacles and whelks, prodding wastrel voices in their gullets, raping their peace.
a gamboling pod of seething humans, clipping along on their jumbles of ore. the scorched wind licking at their torn garments, the sun glinting from their buggutted glasses. Fierce reefs of thorns zip from horizon to horizon over the centipedes of earthly stubble. Claps of garbage plume after the fact.
press the button, end us all, save us from this ghastly pall,
willows deep, widows weep, canvas rent for what mystique,
chambers bound in cloudy russet, dripping from the witch's teat,
call it down, this predator, bring it down, our creator.
slash and gash and lust for more,
save this earth from cerebral bore,
cast not sorrow shadow grave,
your purpose your right pervade
ghastly boilsglow **** and foment
peace on earth, to save from torment.
All of them were waiting for me, eyes trained, screening the gas for the fish, seething splash. Slim days only left without the credibility. who can even breakfast?
cast not yourself into the warrior's outlet,
death comes soon enough eh? the cackling skull scuttling on your secret nerves. slaps as your flesh is torn away, and returned to you, a coat well fit but never the same. Presently, corruption seeps from you, creepies trickle along your toes and the pestulence is wrung from you. drums, we are. we are the beat of god's great orchestra!
they ride on tractors daily, youngsters that should be reading, out chewing grass in the leaves and cold, fill up the tank and snag the cash from parents and clusters.
the wet velvet slushed underfoot. don't cry.
Subjugation of the willing is only a job for the poor of heart enough to stop themselves. Fear is an oil on which all the engines in the world turn. Claustrophobia is the number one reason for infant death. Playing with heartstrings and their own gets caught i suppose,
unknown asthma. Visions of solidity in fear, grasping for a connection, but no, only the rip of blackness on asphalt. Long snotlines, fat with the rub of the foot unhinged, the ankle aligned with the dancer's, sleeping in positions that one sees only in statues, the dance is not a form of expression of the self, but the body exposing the sameness of all of us. lame even feel the twinge of the dance in music if it fancies, and the body takes these positions in luxury, in tension.
The yawn came, like an onion in the mouth, tears rise unbidden, broken only after it seems the jaw would dislocate. the void of playful sedimentia and self tricksterism, pranks of all pranks and unheeded addictions, the void now filled from time to time,
but never truly full
the heart sinks
like a rock
a stone.
Prattling can only get you nowhere, and they have never left this place.