This morning

Materialism causes a round dot.

This dot has a passion for my cloud.

On my cloud there is a poem.

I write my poem for my laughter:

Death god man room beauty.

Fantasy rights art safety love
Land woman reason hope.

Family grieves dreams  -- task -- I die when I am ashes.

In all the goddess there is:

Crooked art
might
is my orgy.

[I don't bar-long to a popper.]

Denial breakdown art gruel.

Capital anger reason nut.

I want my family to be sore  
   so I will need art, a loud and passionate empire.


******************************************

Peace and beauty unto the loss of openness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rape is a fantasy of my onanism.

--I am alone and I am mostly a rook for that nasty murderer, Sartre--

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Gas is a loud and awful man.

Witchfart is now. 

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))


I day bar good.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How is this a men?
How is this a reason?
How is this a family?

I give you dreams of actresses
Who deal ants (such as myself) fascination.

This was a brutal and crooked family.

I now am hopeful.

=================================================


Do You give my friends will?

I do.

Then give yourself a thank you.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cruel truthful trusting

Sweet.

After all the pain, I am laughing for the passion to laugh.

p/ass/ion
pass/ion
p/ass/I/on
pa/ss/ion

Apa mama rapa arga loa maca artist of ro/tary ga
Empire (I): a family that needs teasing.

Sappy and thankful.
Peace is a war that doesn't think about itself as a nut.

And I want a moth for her passion.
Death is not change for me alone.

There is a world that I love that is golden and thankful.
It is a good world.

Ranches and dawn and rank and dreams of moments that give whore
   freak.

Moss.