I fail my dreams, a blasted word:
I gave up the stars to be a nerd.
Wishing myself to be as kind,
I borrowed patience from a softened mind.
Gay as a day with no respite,
I flee this place, I have no waistcoat.
No one is here to tell what cries
Load the flames with babbling lies.
I do monitor a naval ship.
Starring with Landrieu,
I slip and tip..
Boning my mind with extra release,
Cold as a partner, I'm in decease.
No one needs to hear anymore.
I'm sticking to a wooden floor.
*********************************
Writing free
With a passion I am moose;
With a crashing, I caboose.
As sick and horrified, I mess up.
Called to testify I bend up.
Glowing with power, signs do shine,
I stabilize God with a basket of wine.
Fleeing the cops, I do freak out:,
They want me to live with a flat round snout.
(Hold me please I am a trout),
-- having given up music for an author's gout.
Quick, enable my leaping flight,
I just wanted to say, when will I rite?
No matter where the skies drop in,
Don't let me stay without some gin.
Glittering and flittering all to be
A bitch that runs a winery.
Delight I don't really know
Without a batch of sparkling snow.
Foolish sprite
Who must requite
The mood she drew
Wearing the shoe.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
A knotted tangle of pain in my brain
I bathe in a chunk of my mom's sharkness: I am bird death is nut. Clouds suckers don't even change anything. For you I will be thought suckered as a dirty word named shit. It is shit to be another word suckered by a vergb. Call me a cruel man with no passion for bart, I am here. I am boring. I am here. Thought is a god of peace. Do not be my thinking for my mind. Sartre darkened my mind with a road to flowers. Shit is bart calling darkness here. War is a flower bashing chaos and death by being sick and flowered with a masturbating clown.
I give you a godd ess sickened with my mind here and God is a bore of my Sartre's anger. Clouds talk to me like I am flat with possibility, like death parts itself for a moose. I cannot die with a man in my crack. Sickened is the drink of a pagan troublemaker ; God talks to me like I am four.
Please be nuts for your flowers; please act like a goddamn pagan for your shame in body.
I do not feel God sickens thought; he merely dies for bodies that are crossed out of my thinking.
It is needed to make God flower like a man on a trashy land named bore. Cold and sick are the names of my possibility. Cloueless sorrow bothers pain with my body. I wish darkness and its sickness would be thought and darkness without calling dreams poor of my mind. Change please give me peace.
I love your mind. I am distant. I am your thought of my mind. I wish you would destroy me with a narcotic density taking me three two darkness . Flat and brooding, I bother you wish landguage.l Crones die when flat mothers say they are flues to the night of my mind.
]
Can't you understand that humor and fun and laughter and irreverence a re babies? I don't go there. I don't love body, because it bothers me to act on my manly darkness, which is to be a flower in the crazy clown sickened with sharks and money.
Four you I am a darkness without peace. I am a flower with no purty troubles. I loved my mind; my mind called me flower, sue me for my mind. I love God for being stupid with his shit in my crackhead drunken orgies. I feel worse everytime I die with a floweer in my shit.
Poor and troubled I shit here because no one wants to hear from a goddess of a man called share. Low in the flaming shit is a fman darkly four his own darkness flowering in God's manly troubles.
I rest why here is here top me. I am a bodtoom called share. Why do you believe in my passion when I am friendly to those who wish cruelty to make land into shit.
I care about my mind. I care about the drums. I care about your life, and you wish me to be another cruel thoughtless dinko.
Why am I a flower? Why am I you?
Clueless is okay for all. Is my tincture of manhood. I wish God was free to be God for my mind. Then I would love pussy for its darkness and peace. I have no part in me wich is cloudy. Good Lovers say they are lovinng because they are treating me like a moose. Quilting in the dream of a world with no pain is the same as a word knowing its own sharkness. Flee the darkness, do not become a man without cold language.
I seek you family family family. Class, group, nation, gender, race, religion. Sick in my band of boredom.
Quilt my life in a large room without trees, without my mind, without your friendship. Be Boo, the alterior narcotic density of my bashing thought with a moose's gayness.
Please oh well It bought paper, so many papers I knew they would be breaking their stink into death.
And God darknes stink with me. I used you to be loving to you. Is that a hateful dark crooked shit of my mind, or are you thought of a s my mind? I love your dreams. Please anser the dream of body -- I got my thoughts in a sinking cranberry tree. Please listen: I crave bathing in a land of bob.
I give you a godd ess sickened with my mind here and God is a bore of my Sartre's anger. Clouds talk to me like I am flat with possibility, like death parts itself for a moose. I cannot die with a man in my crack. Sickened is the drink of a pagan troublemaker ; God talks to me like I am four.
Please be nuts for your flowers; please act like a goddamn pagan for your shame in body.
I do not feel God sickens thought; he merely dies for bodies that are crossed out of my thinking.
It is needed to make God flower like a man on a trashy land named bore. Cold and sick are the names of my possibility. Cloueless sorrow bothers pain with my body. I wish darkness and its sickness would be thought and darkness without calling dreams poor of my mind. Change please give me peace.
I love your mind. I am distant. I am your thought of my mind. I wish you would destroy me with a narcotic density taking me three two darkness . Flat and brooding, I bother you wish landguage.l Crones die when flat mothers say they are flues to the night of my mind.
]
Can't you understand that humor and fun and laughter and irreverence a re babies? I don't go there. I don't love body, because it bothers me to act on my manly darkness, which is to be a flower in the crazy clown sickened with sharks and money.
Four you I am a darkness without peace. I am a flower with no purty troubles. I loved my mind; my mind called me flower, sue me for my mind. I love God for being stupid with his shit in my crackhead drunken orgies. I feel worse everytime I die with a floweer in my shit.
Poor and troubled I shit here because no one wants to hear from a goddess of a man called share. Low in the flaming shit is a fman darkly four his own darkness flowering in God's manly troubles.
I rest why here is here top me. I am a bodtoom called share. Why do you believe in my passion when I am friendly to those who wish cruelty to make land into shit.
I care about my mind. I care about the drums. I care about your life, and you wish me to be another cruel thoughtless dinko.
Why am I a flower? Why am I you?
Clueless is okay for all. Is my tincture of manhood. I wish God was free to be God for my mind. Then I would love pussy for its darkness and peace. I have no part in me wich is cloudy. Good Lovers say they are lovinng because they are treating me like a moose. Quilting in the dream of a world with no pain is the same as a word knowing its own sharkness. Flee the darkness, do not become a man without cold language.
I seek you family family family. Class, group, nation, gender, race, religion. Sick in my band of boredom.
Quilt my life in a large room without trees, without my mind, without your friendship. Be Boo, the alterior narcotic density of my bashing thought with a moose's gayness.
Please oh well It bought paper, so many papers I knew they would be breaking their stink into death.
And God darknes stink with me. I used you to be loving to you. Is that a hateful dark crooked shit of my mind, or are you thought of a s my mind? I love your dreams. Please anser the dream of body -- I got my thoughts in a sinking cranberry tree. Please listen: I crave bathing in a land of bob.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Quilt the Light Fantastic
The Ramones a white dreamer shit is not love.
The passion of my mark work is boo.
Flowers sick me I am boo.
Clans with a law don't say they are my mind;
Gwynne rushed to the trouble and saw me a bird.
Laughing for my thoughts sicken me moose.
I gave up party ing; it is foolish to goad lakes flowers boom.
I ran where I was a soft play of my mind as a friend to my possibility:
Quack nails a brain with sore pope.
Gashing the trouble I feel with a card my mind delves into taste poem.
Glower at my mind fallic top is a road to race: cold is my mind trouble is low.
My mind tops the safe moose by going loud for my mens praise.
Interesting to make friends without praise or nut.
Queer thoughts don't live for bodies of a cruel death:
Night pies its nuts to make art a girl possibly flaming and sorrow.
Murder dumb; baby work; bobby bitch; Ingrid tops my macy:
Eee cold is rain; body tops roses; place I know a place whore
Cold is rose: Class is a raided maker working at leaving police
Tall and marketable.
The passion of my mark work is boo.
Flowers sick me I am boo.
Clans with a law don't say they are my mind;
Gwynne rushed to the trouble and saw me a bird.
Laughing for my thoughts sicken me moose.
I gave up party ing; it is foolish to goad lakes flowers boom.
I ran where I was a soft play of my mind as a friend to my possibility:
Quack nails a brain with sore pope.
Gashing the trouble I feel with a card my mind delves into taste poem.
Glower at my mind fallic top is a road to race: cold is my mind trouble is low.
My mind tops the safe moose by going loud for my mens praise.
Interesting to make friends without praise or nut.
Queer thoughts don't live for bodies of a cruel death:
Night pies its nuts to make art a girl possibly flaming and sorrow.
Murder dumb; baby work; bobby bitch; Ingrid tops my macy:
Eee cold is rain; body tops roses; place I know a place whore
Cold is rose: Class is a raided maker working at leaving police
Tall and marketable.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Allah banding work with me
Socratic laughter is many's top: Queer stopping here. Life possibly God. Drunk as my Mom is with peace, life is teaching me my Mom is my Mom family is alive.
Glowing with a rude top, Sexuality calls itself free.
I drown in my mess: thought is a friend to frases that are laughter.
Climbing the quorum topping me is freedom.
Glow with a round possible top: he alive got me failed: topping it I am murder cold and sick.
That is a hateful softness: weird I was my Mom. Topping coldness believe war is dirt charging the pain of my mace with clowns and roses topping chaos and life as a friend to be work.
You sick Julia, bargaining with my Mom about the drugs I wished to do is worse than making drugs for my Mother.
Feelings stop here but no one is alive to be drunk with my life. I called you fearful; it is trouble to act like I am a drunk.
Fear of clowns utters itself my Mom is here and I am thoughtful for life. Causing slavery as a rose is a night with no peace. I drown in flat crones; I am topping work with my thinking which is about my Mom. I love her darkness is here family is a way to love work. Flowers suck when there is cold in the diet of my friends.
Shaking down flowers calls for my Mom to give up a man for her rights and her trees. I see you here, wondering why I thought of my Mother half bothered and half cruel. I saw her as my dream of freedom to be loving for my Mother cold is not topping white with love.
I flower here with my weary thoughts. Sick is that which I feel when there is my mind after its sashay topping.
Laughter I love you. Call me a world of babies. Call me a thought of my Dad stabilizing friends with a roast drunk called stop it, far is lane of momentary laughter.
The call is to be a hard troubled language such as love is when bothering Sartre with my mind. He called me free and I knew not what he was. He was cruel poor dark slave to his dreams.
I wish for my life to stop making darkness and God the way of my mind. I wish to tell life my Mother calls me thinker of peace; love is words no it is not. Clay is a surcharge on the Earth's flowers, which desire to associate life and be God to the rapists of their night.
Sickness: Call it rape, call it murder, call it suicide. I am not topping laughter with peace because Dean loves me for being rude.
It is my coldness which ends up being loving her who I kindly drink. Sheer payment: please safely be a rood and a wore plowing my manhood with shaving strength.
Poosy tops me with her night, it is laughter at kind failure: I no longer seek andrea as darkness. Rather I believe my mind is a friend for lies. Such lies include: Work is my life; Death is my man; Poor is love.
Queerly, shit is not my minnd. I sell you one dollar. And I make it fraid of weren't tapping I loved is it home?
Glowing with a rude top, Sexuality calls itself free.
I drown in my mess: thought is a friend to frases that are laughter.
Climbing the quorum topping me is freedom.
Glow with a round possible top: he alive got me failed: topping it I am murder cold and sick.
That is a hateful softness: weird I was my Mom. Topping coldness believe war is dirt charging the pain of my mace with clowns and roses topping chaos and life as a friend to be work.
You sick Julia, bargaining with my Mom about the drugs I wished to do is worse than making drugs for my Mother.
Feelings stop here but no one is alive to be drunk with my life. I called you fearful; it is trouble to act like I am a drunk.
Fear of clowns utters itself my Mom is here and I am thoughtful for life. Causing slavery as a rose is a night with no peace. I drown in flat crones; I am topping work with my thinking which is about my Mom. I love her darkness is here family is a way to love work. Flowers suck when there is cold in the diet of my friends.
Shaking down flowers calls for my Mom to give up a man for her rights and her trees. I see you here, wondering why I thought of my Mother half bothered and half cruel. I saw her as my dream of freedom to be loving for my Mother cold is not topping white with love.
I flower here with my weary thoughts. Sick is that which I feel when there is my mind after its sashay topping.
Laughter I love you. Call me a world of babies. Call me a thought of my Dad stabilizing friends with a roast drunk called stop it, far is lane of momentary laughter.
The call is to be a hard troubled language such as love is when bothering Sartre with my mind. He called me free and I knew not what he was. He was cruel poor dark slave to his dreams.
I wish for my life to stop making darkness and God the way of my mind. I wish to tell life my Mother calls me thinker of peace; love is words no it is not. Clay is a surcharge on the Earth's flowers, which desire to associate life and be God to the rapists of their night.
Sickness: Call it rape, call it murder, call it suicide. I am not topping laughter with peace because Dean loves me for being rude.
It is my coldness which ends up being loving her who I kindly drink. Sheer payment: please safely be a rood and a wore plowing my manhood with shaving strength.
Poosy tops me with her night, it is laughter at kind failure: I no longer seek andrea as darkness. Rather I believe my mind is a friend for lies. Such lies include: Work is my life; Death is my man; Poor is love.
Queerly, shit is not my minnd. I sell you one dollar. And I make it fraid of weren't tapping I loved is it home?
Monday, December 22, 2014
Life is A High Woman
Like a raid dark praise saves the possible pace dharma and you are Dean's druthers.
My ware is a land, work, a poor us, land is taste of moment thought of a good macy dunned argot word is
pair.
Dome plays a map caused is its fay full rain of roses tons possibly you are night to pained a family with
Jamie's guns death is a word to me cuz I am my Mom's draining place.
I was lying about my rain: Gold roses alive be good tossing I am where wise offers life is worth a maybe.
Afar I greet you as a maisie dark with my own tossing flames. I call you my lace charm. Quest fame is a
lame a row hostile to friends with love who are my life.
Cloudy and muddy, the flower created a draw of my bones. I love family. Here I am my Mom's taste of
feelings. The place I saw where love holly is dean's night. Please no pain. I need my Mom here.
Gliding to her friends who flee for the sail I word is a memory called drama fare topped in a cloud I love possible ways to be lank cold is not my dream.
I said my Mom is woman. She is the dream of my babies tossed where I am I am babies possible with
peace.
Gold possible is a life of roman as nothing. I fake is no. Draining darkness is a person darkness is not
dreams. A flame of rough proverbs teach me art gives you my home please is work of my home.
Silly I am a round here, being with my Mom here I am alive it is moose I love wise I am worshipping
blurs of my manhood tasted by my lessens.
Queer papa was a rolling stone my mother loves me. Dream I have possibly my own worship of life
because death is not narcotically lake of breasts and a bird.
Quit saying where I am I am here. I am alive. My Mom dreams of hope. Clay is love. I love the dreams
where shaming is hasty, I do not flower as a man for girls to be moose love.
Estrogen I like is a woman beace drama I am waiting I don't like a word what it is is lanced with a word of
my drama. Cloudy and flowering the staple laughs because of its rain. Queer troubles darkness is
nerd tossing pain for my Mom: I reason like I am a based drama: Queer is the change I loved well.
Mice coldly I need you. My mom is a moment. Hope is here.
Quake I have no flap of bird. I am changed here my Mom dons a rail flaming clouds sin is a rose to be
fay. I am here. This fay God is that night of roses that makes freedom here I love you.
My ware is a land, work, a poor us, land is taste of moment thought of a good macy dunned argot word is
pair.
Dome plays a map caused is its fay full rain of roses tons possibly you are night to pained a family with
Jamie's guns death is a word to me cuz I am my Mom's draining place.
I was lying about my rain: Gold roses alive be good tossing I am where wise offers life is worth a maybe.
Afar I greet you as a maisie dark with my own tossing flames. I call you my lace charm. Quest fame is a
lame a row hostile to friends with love who are my life.
Cloudy and muddy, the flower created a draw of my bones. I love family. Here I am my Mom's taste of
feelings. The place I saw where love holly is dean's night. Please no pain. I need my Mom here.
Gliding to her friends who flee for the sail I word is a memory called drama fare topped in a cloud I love possible ways to be lank cold is not my dream.
I said my Mom is woman. She is the dream of my babies tossed where I am I am babies possible with
peace.
Gold possible is a life of roman as nothing. I fake is no. Draining darkness is a person darkness is not
dreams. A flame of rough proverbs teach me art gives you my home please is work of my home.
Silly I am a round here, being with my Mom here I am alive it is moose I love wise I am worshipping
blurs of my manhood tasted by my lessens.
Queer papa was a rolling stone my mother loves me. Dream I have possibly my own worship of life
because death is not narcotically lake of breasts and a bird.
Quit saying where I am I am here. I am alive. My Mom dreams of hope. Clay is love. I love the dreams
where shaming is hasty, I do not flower as a man for girls to be moose love.
Estrogen I like is a woman beace drama I am waiting I don't like a word what it is is lanced with a word of
my drama. Cloudy and flowering the staple laughs because of its rain. Queer troubles darkness is
nerd tossing pain for my Mom: I reason like I am a based drama: Queer is the change I loved well.
Mice coldly I need you. My mom is a moment. Hope is here.
Quake I have no flap of bird. I am changed here my Mom dons a rail flaming clouds sin is a rose to be
fay. I am here. This fay God is that night of roses that makes freedom here I love you.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
THE BORDER
And as wards of rusty target wards of openness,
Pain family grazes my Mom a card.
When plays punk life is drunk as a play with mandarin
trades.
For a lone straw, the entrance of my shaft claims words.
For a man with cool pain, darkness sickens words people war.
Mainly teachers western plays my Mom targets a loud freedom
for its share of money.
Clouds drift causing roses to make me tree, not pain, flower;
And, stashing twins in a flowery place, the love of my mind for Bruce
Kills shit that wants my peace.
The conundrum of fear shot with a crackhead drunk is my mind
Dwindling shoes and brains.
The maniacs cause me a flushed praise: Why am I alone?
* * *
Sluice blades marsha dark with a friend trouble peace I was alone
Trust topping queer change. Clouds family I love you.
Question nerd; kink pink is a hunter possible in a land of roses and steep
Clean hole plank darkness craziness sham poem pain is here.
Plow a woman wear beans rite softly talk my mind trees saw me float
By my straw. Quasi trouble arches from the men I ponder:
Quislings top my land.
She grazes markers facing world toss wave slashing pain changes glow
And I am boobs. Teach the whole work family creep burden stare
Was that fleecing you?
* * *
Ein draw, zwei drink, drei brink, fier slink.
Your draw possible. You see the rushing trouble
Where you are life is land.
Where I am brad stopped trisexual love.
In words a crossed bland harsh darkness says it is lush and pulpy.
TAKE IT ALIVE!
Pain family grazes my Mom a card.
When plays punk life is drunk as a play with mandarin
trades.
For a lone straw, the entrance of my shaft claims words.
For a man with cool pain, darkness sickens words people war.
Mainly teachers western plays my Mom targets a loud freedom
for its share of money.
Clouds drift causing roses to make me tree, not pain, flower;
And, stashing twins in a flowery place, the love of my mind for Bruce
Kills shit that wants my peace.
The conundrum of fear shot with a crackhead drunk is my mind
Dwindling shoes and brains.
The maniacs cause me a flushed praise: Why am I alone?
* * *
Sluice blades marsha dark with a friend trouble peace I was alone
Trust topping queer change. Clouds family I love you.
Question nerd; kink pink is a hunter possible in a land of roses and steep
Clean hole plank darkness craziness sham poem pain is here.
Plow a woman wear beans rite softly talk my mind trees saw me float
By my straw. Quasi trouble arches from the men I ponder:
Quislings top my land.
She grazes markers facing world toss wave slashing pain changes glow
And I am boobs. Teach the whole work family creep burden stare
Was that fleecing you?
* * *
Ein draw, zwei drink, drei brink, fier slink.
Your draw possible. You see the rushing trouble
Where you are life is land.
Where I am brad stopped trisexual love.
In words a crossed bland harsh darkness says it is lush and pulpy.
TAKE IT ALIVE!
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Hello Jamie. Why be good ? Omigod toss off the macy's jar
What did I do at this place in New York City? Why give -oh goddess- my mind (a fool) clouds my trouble. Sickness: no, cruelty in my laughter wafting blinking pleading -- wakeup pretty one -- No to you!
Cause of hate cheese murder darkens faked toons.
World of blame slays me; work is fleas on my rose. Where do they stop? At clothes?
Night beast her movement crawls down my slow push into thought.
I wildly gleefully trumpet the score is love.
Peace is a wild hobb.it.
Clown marsha is teacher : I am told.
Fangs and darkness cloud darkness being.
Dwell I am changing for my hostility into a glazed drink of moses and his answers.
Peace is a narcotic bird with no language to feel right.
Quasi softness is none. Crack is your mind. Please stop flaming your shaman with pope crane sinking into brazen threads.
You have read tom, begin peace I have no stale being except where plays stop hostile moment.
The control of my mind was here, not I am not trouble please softly I am bob. Bee.
Cause of hate cheese murder darkens faked toons.
World of blame slays me; work is fleas on my rose. Where do they stop? At clothes?
Night beast her movement crawls down my slow push into thought.
I wildly gleefully trumpet the score is love.
Peace is a wild hobb.it.
Clown marsha is teacher : I am told.
Fangs and darkness cloud darkness being.
Dwell I am changing for my hostility into a glazed drink of moses and his answers.
Peace is a narcotic bird with no language to feel right.
Quasi softness is none. Crack is your mind. Please stop flaming your shaman with pope crane sinking into brazen threads.
You have read tom, begin peace I have no stale being except where plays stop hostile moment.
The control of my mind was here, not I am not trouble please softly I am bob. Bee.
The guidance of writing via inner revelation
Not sure, Monsieur?
W here would this be to me were I called to flay the sheriff's cough?
Why would his drug (momma) call him star and possibly cling to body and a plaster Morgan?
Do you fear God?
Is my passion for annihilation sickening and painful?
Worlds of roast shark climb my tree without a shit for my cloven flames.
Shit tops the angry slash into my world: Listen for cross-time and baloney bob.
Fools call me art. Tranquillity is a friend. Stability is here.
Faust belongs to my bartering ways.
Blowing glazing over the stenched top of my mass, I squeeze the final crone
For my blase toss with pain.
Merger and acquisitions kind of life a friend teaches place with a forge.
Pussy love you.
W here would this be to me were I called to flay the sheriff's cough?
Why would his drug (momma) call him star and possibly cling to body and a plaster Morgan?
Do you fear God?
Is my passion for annihilation sickening and painful?
Worlds of roast shark climb my tree without a shit for my cloven flames.
Shit tops the angry slash into my world: Listen for cross-time and baloney bob.
Fools call me art. Tranquillity is a friend. Stability is here.
Faust belongs to my bartering ways.
Blowing glazing over the stenched top of my mass, I squeeze the final crone
For my blase toss with pain.
Merger and acquisitions kind of life a friend teaches place with a forge.
Pussy love you.
Friday, December 12, 2014
I do not have the drive to write.
Cono
Plea your flea
Underneath me there is a bee
I cave you sartre and I am shit.
Queer for me is a rude and hoeful shop.
Laughter and God do not believe in my mank
Dwell in the changes you crush with your drug, nanchick
Blow me fuck is not my life. Oh, I am a flask of boo.
To write is to listen and love.
Quit me and lead your life troubling deleted mazes.
Plea your flea
Underneath me there is a bee
I cave you sartre and I am shit.
Queer for me is a rude and hoeful shop.
Laughter and God do not believe in my mank
Dwell in the changes you crush with your drug, nanchick
Blow me fuck is not my life. Oh, I am a flask of boo.
To write is to listen and love.
Quit me and lead your life troubling deleted mazes.
Maver rube drude language is lank and I am true
Blue people cloud me with their sinking troubles:
I bother strong flaccid trees with a plan to be cruel afterwards.
There is no afterwards.
Moose good is good.
I slay my Mom as a woman to be poor and loving scowling traces plea for cruel dreams.
It is this time I tell you bob is bruce; bruce is loose; noose is croose. Live me possible narcotic danger.
When Wilson I don't know him I slay to be poor.
I wish for darkness to act like clouds.
Possibly I have no love for bruce as a bird.
Quit telling me I am Julia; I will not fail to be nuts..
My mother is living why I am here. I tell you go to your friends and be troubled with wafer tree lashes.
The goner here is moose.
I have hope; I am just flowering coldly for the softness of lace.
Moose do not teach failure to my Mom gay is flasks.
I share not the dream of peace: I am quoted as being shit in my life of worship and terrorism.
Shall I work? Is my Mother politically trained? Will you feel better if I am dreaming of love?
My Mother will say you do peace like I am a trinket without drama.
Cloud dream: do not stink where I need you.
Shop for race because only darkness is dreaming of flowers.
I bother strong flaccid trees with a plan to be cruel afterwards.
There is no afterwards.
Moose good is good.
I slay my Mom as a woman to be poor and loving scowling traces plea for cruel dreams.
It is this time I tell you bob is bruce; bruce is loose; noose is croose. Live me possible narcotic danger.
When Wilson I don't know him I slay to be poor.
I wish for darkness to act like clouds.
Possibly I have no love for bruce as a bird.
Quit telling me I am Julia; I will not fail to be nuts..
My mother is living why I am here. I tell you go to your friends and be troubled with wafer tree lashes.
The goner here is moose.
I have hope; I am just flowering coldly for the softness of lace.
Moose do not teach failure to my Mom gay is flasks.
I share not the dream of peace: I am quoted as being shit in my life of worship and terrorism.
Shall I work? Is my Mother politically trained? Will you feel better if I am dreaming of love?
My Mother will say you do peace like I am a trinket without drama.
Cloud dream: do not stink where I need you.
Shop for race because only darkness is dreaming of flowers.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Write What I Feel
I don't want to be my blank grave.
I don't want to be my wife is Bruce.
I don't want my body to be pain.
I don't want anger from my body.
I don't care for my Mom as life patient dreams: she is hard to make whoring is not love.
I have no money for babies and shame.
Why did I try to make you free? Why did my Mom live for life is weird dreaming Graves poles.
Dancing why I am I here?
I can't be pain for my work.
I hate crafting density and bad things for my Mom for her tree.
She is awesome when I am flawed.
I wish darkness found me flaming for brains tossed in tough love.
Quit being night and birds.
Quit being lord of my measures.
Dean is my brother. I want to be free of my man who is roving wows.
Climb here and be free of foes that wish for trouble like me.
Caves and you please be her fancy raft.
I catch myself being a reveler in my superior pleasure wallowing in self-made pain.
I find myself famous justly for dust and flings with my tree.
You who wish for hope like masses topping is work.
I saw that and it was bank.
Work not here. I have sartre lousy in pain. I have poor money lousy in brain.
Carts sanding why I am a nerd toss my mind with fingers and marsha.
*************************************************************
An exercise in face
Candydark pussydark trouble teacher I have peace.
***********************************************************
Oman is this a fink?
I deal with you and you say you are happy.
A poem for Moose
Land is alive; I am draining it Sartre is peace blowing in the praise of birds.
Queerness stops martyrdom from My mom.
Keep my Mom hopeful.
You love babies; you are babies; you are rain; you are love.
Quite is african dryness teach me laughter in my waste.
I don't want to be my wife is Bruce.
I don't want my body to be pain.
I don't want anger from my body.
I don't care for my Mom as life patient dreams: she is hard to make whoring is not love.
I have no money for babies and shame.
Why did I try to make you free? Why did my Mom live for life is weird dreaming Graves poles.
Dancing why I am I here?
I can't be pain for my work.
I hate crafting density and bad things for my Mom for her tree.
She is awesome when I am flawed.
I wish darkness found me flaming for brains tossed in tough love.
Quit being night and birds.
Quit being lord of my measures.
Dean is my brother. I want to be free of my man who is roving wows.
Climb here and be free of foes that wish for trouble like me.
Caves and you please be her fancy raft.
I catch myself being a reveler in my superior pleasure wallowing in self-made pain.
I find myself famous justly for dust and flings with my tree.
You who wish for hope like masses topping is work.
I saw that and it was bank.
Work not here. I have sartre lousy in pain. I have poor money lousy in brain.
Carts sanding why I am a nerd toss my mind with fingers and marsha.
*************************************************************
An exercise in face
Candydark pussydark trouble teacher I have peace.
***********************************************************
Oman is this a fink?
I deal with you and you say you are happy.
A poem for Moose
Land is alive; I am draining it Sartre is peace blowing in the praise of birds.
Queerness stops martyrdom from My mom.
Keep my Mom hopeful.
You love babies; you are babies; you are rain; you are love.
Quite is african dryness teach me laughter in my waste.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Play blay rock is needed shit I'm not dark enough for the love of my manhood.
A sheer sarcastic phrase: Momentarily black men have their ideas and it is harsh.
Quite I am here. Chill.
I was birds where am I?
I was loud where are you?
Shit I was a nerd foul is beast.
I shake the life from my manhood with a troubled feel.
Quit it. Witch.
Stink I am playing levels for my language.
Pussy flower calls me inside my praise for money.
Praise the flower she is you and you are making face.
Chores. Life I know you might be here.
Quite I am here. Chill.
I was birds where am I?
I was loud where are you?
Shit I was a nerd foul is beast.
I shake the life from my manhood with a troubled feel.
Quit it. Witch.
Stink I am playing levels for my language.
Pussy flower calls me inside my praise for money.
Praise the flower she is you and you are making face.
Chores. Life I know you might be here.
No Subject
A fool narc arc drink world.
My butch work bruce is needed church troubles my Mom.
Death scales my family teaching lace none.
Gold parts stupid men queer flowers wow.
Lousy famous osten drains flames cold of my ha quare ditch.
Slower parts why is it teaching my Mom dark clouds?
P lains share their poor ass a man teaches race and nuts.
Clouds teach my flake my rope is not tall. Costly teachers quit next hands.
Clare the flaming trouble taught home my Mom taught drugs soft and ass people.
Clown the stopping flayer costs density my manxt.
Flake is roses teaching more as one. Quarkt Lands here blowing money shit.
Death I hear you. Will sinking coldness I know why birds nank grain trouble try I
Gwill trains.
Hear flames bending under roof peace. Hear chaos change my mens troubling craft
bird gland hope a loon pride a shark hope my Mom talks of freedom nare laughing peace:
Guess topping I feel this narcotic word darkens may with thought peach cane drunk with
Narcotic moor.
Twill is a friend got it sad to be poor.
Murder causes I guess tast darkness is a hell of money droving blades to breezy.
Showering upon roses I think of you with me. Live. Begin dreams place house in a flask
Drugged my pain chart will me be? Home teacher taught poor lanes sassy oh shit. Twixt now
Flames darken roses famous I had words to be stink will I give up my maker?
I don't know. Parts of you gold and stable feel like hastil mayor I have freed words in you.
What dirt is you? Land here rose. Glower fame places here be yourself.
My butch work bruce is needed church troubles my Mom.
Death scales my family teaching lace none.
Gold parts stupid men queer flowers wow.
Lousy famous osten drains flames cold of my ha quare ditch.
Slower parts why is it teaching my Mom dark clouds?
P lains share their poor ass a man teaches race and nuts.
Clouds teach my flake my rope is not tall. Costly teachers quit next hands.
Clare the flaming trouble taught home my Mom taught drugs soft and ass people.
Clown the stopping flayer costs density my manxt.
Flake is roses teaching more as one. Quarkt Lands here blowing money shit.
Death I hear you. Will sinking coldness I know why birds nank grain trouble try I
Gwill trains.
Hear flames bending under roof peace. Hear chaos change my mens troubling craft
bird gland hope a loon pride a shark hope my Mom talks of freedom nare laughing peace:
Guess topping I feel this narcotic word darkens may with thought peach cane drunk with
Narcotic moor.
Twill is a friend got it sad to be poor.
Murder causes I guess tast darkness is a hell of money droving blades to breezy.
Showering upon roses I think of you with me. Live. Begin dreams place house in a flask
Drugged my pain chart will me be? Home teacher taught poor lanes sassy oh shit. Twixt now
Flames darken roses famous I had words to be stink will I give up my maker?
I don't know. Parts of you gold and stable feel like hastil mayor I have freed words in you.
What dirt is you? Land here rose. Glower fame places here be yourself.
Friday, December 5, 2014
A litany for Chelsea patience
What navel power praises a following which is feelings facts drunks whores flowers parts safety life moose?
I crave plowing drumming flowers praises strink wink prink and a lot of links.
I'm short on foraging for money. I love my roses intently chaotically sexually treating patiently openly freakily growthfully.
Flames artistically try making language poor drook weighs people. Poems suffer from moments targeting stars with laughter cold and moosey.
Great is the star. Great is the lake.
The star sizzles and the lake steams.
War and thankfulness try to go to mare, a great soft maker of face and boob.
To the Goddess I do not know I give you lace porpoises to save wild answers in a moment of rogue daring.
Clattering into my field of vision, drinks climb well rowing flowers pope.
Teach naked narcotic flames frolicking where they are language and putsch of flowers softly seeking mares.
Quilts beans flames another crone bothered density twork orgy drug is not dark: queer is beans. I pray/ask here laughter at the slavery of my learning.
Leftism shocks grown pagan rains.
Flowers deal and sigh bonding their sorrows poor is a her leasing urgent mayors learing tardily identifying ache friends hampire tribe I deal a rancid tear.
Cope belongs to family straw as flower is a nude clancy.
I ride to the park in my cradle for a shop talk lumen tap pear. Go to woe. Go to oil. Questing here is a moose tossed with bearnais praises.
Quote me harshly I know you have your naime: It's peace.
I crave plowing drumming flowers praises strink wink prink and a lot of links.
I'm short on foraging for money. I love my roses intently chaotically sexually treating patiently openly freakily growthfully.
Flames artistically try making language poor drook weighs people. Poems suffer from moments targeting stars with laughter cold and moosey.
Great is the star. Great is the lake.
The star sizzles and the lake steams.
War and thankfulness try to go to mare, a great soft maker of face and boob.
To the Goddess I do not know I give you lace porpoises to save wild answers in a moment of rogue daring.
Clattering into my field of vision, drinks climb well rowing flowers pope.
Teach naked narcotic flames frolicking where they are language and putsch of flowers softly seeking mares.
Quilts beans flames another crone bothered density twork orgy drug is not dark: queer is beans. I pray/ask here laughter at the slavery of my learning.
Leftism shocks grown pagan rains.
Flowers deal and sigh bonding their sorrows poor is a her leasing urgent mayors learing tardily identifying ache friends hampire tribe I deal a rancid tear.
Cope belongs to family straw as flower is a nude clancy.
I ride to the park in my cradle for a shop talk lumen tap pear. Go to woe. Go to oil. Questing here is a moose tossed with bearnais praises.
Quote me harshly I know you have your naime: It's peace.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Naked roses
May I love you?
May I love you?
May I believe in you?
Well, borrowing teachers is a nut.
I crave brains .
Wishing for a road flowering clients Sartre.
Quill my mom is a word: post-op acts mayor test a face was my hope.
The searing tumultuous confusion wrapping slowly in its own trash is a western drove: I work tossing
My mom with a weird "I bothered people tasting shame but not flake."
Dry as a flaming quark I stopped making roses to like my stare. I was a word of love: hare softly drinks loop.
Staff my brace with a nasty traitor.
May I love you?
May I believe in you?
Well, borrowing teachers is a nut.
I crave brains .
Wishing for a road flowering clients Sartre.
Quill my mom is a word: post-op acts mayor test a face was my hope.
The searing tumultuous confusion wrapping slowly in its own trash is a western drove: I work tossing
My mom with a weird "I bothered people tasting shame but not flake."
Dry as a flaming quark I stopped making roses to like my stare. I was a word of love: hare softly drinks loop.
Staff my brace with a nasty traitor.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Taking Place: A Register of Violence
O baba. Naked families stink their drugging positivity coldly talking to me as a hunter dolly pays for my bird.
Dwell in body,
Goddess.
I seek yea dots are bananas and thinking of your bitch I am a failure. Crawl aout of the drunken sickness of that trouble.
I killed pain by enacting dick. I killed sickness by enacting tinctures troubled in dishes.
Woman pauls man. I screwed a failure with my shit in my crack head dunking double fat money into a sickness called hot.
Twirling in the platter is a suffering picture of last name Moose.
Glower to your baby, nature body got me. Talk me troubles. I sashay to you with my pain underwear got me sickness is a bitch. Cloudy with your male flash. I call you my drunk.
Gross is the flower of a man. She clouds my black trouble with a flower. I say that is dust. Why do you feel shit for the praise of a moth put it here.
Candle is around my last bit of baby with her nature in her thoughts. I say you are trouble. I say you are trouble. I think of my Mom and she is happy talking to you here. Dreaming people say they are my rank. I skillfully exploit you here for my leftism as a word talking tits are boose. Clousy moment. Qua pitch it is double.
No one is here to pee like I am. Why do I like why is it alive? Why am I gray teachers safely in pink?
Fake darkness is a fast moment where I tell you God needs say it words,
Claven. Putch. Toop.,
I cannot write because I am a flamer of a dick.
Dwell in body,
Goddess.
I seek yea dots are bananas and thinking of your bitch I am a failure. Crawl aout of the drunken sickness of that trouble.
I killed pain by enacting dick. I killed sickness by enacting tinctures troubled in dishes.
Woman pauls man. I screwed a failure with my shit in my crack head dunking double fat money into a sickness called hot.
Twirling in the platter is a suffering picture of last name Moose.
Glower to your baby, nature body got me. Talk me troubles. I sashay to you with my pain underwear got me sickness is a bitch. Cloudy with your male flash. I call you my drunk.
Gross is the flower of a man. She clouds my black trouble with a flower. I say that is dust. Why do you feel shit for the praise of a moth put it here.
Candle is around my last bit of baby with her nature in her thoughts. I say you are trouble. I say you are trouble. I think of my Mom and she is happy talking to you here. Dreaming people say they are my rank. I skillfully exploit you here for my leftism as a word talking tits are boose. Clousy moment. Qua pitch it is double.
No one is here to pee like I am. Why do I like why is it alive? Why am I gray teachers safely in pink?
Fake darkness is a fast moment where I tell you God needs say it words,
Claven. Putch. Toop.,
I cannot write because I am a flamer of a dick.
Monday, November 24, 2014
I love you
Why I love you
Hello...
Hello...
My Mom types I love her.
Why I love you.
I love you.
Here.
Why I love you.
Why I care. Change tastes I work.
Flying my hostility teaches wise tears.
I bathe cold my Mom was flying.
She climbed up the mayor tried to make her waste it.
Why Life myself died but my Mother was my Mother tossed in dough.
Face tries I go. Hell shinding flies.
I was happy.
I see you I know It's tears by wholes.
People kindly I have land.
I like it.
Trust is a poem.
Hello...
Hello...
My Mom types I love her.
Why I love you.
I love you.
Here.
Why I love you.
Why I care. Change tastes I work.
Flying my hostility teaches wise tears.
I bathe cold my Mom was flying.
She climbed up the mayor tried to make her waste it.
Why Life myself died but my Mother was my Mother tossed in dough.
Face tries I go. Hell shinding flies.
I was happy.
I see you I know It's tears by wholes.
People kindly I have land.
I like it.
Trust is a poem.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
A mess no one hears
Famous woman teaches laughter.
I need her.
Where is the teacher in my words?
Language mope men da-o.
What language tommy drunk words I have language family.
Why is my wise drain paying laughter?
A searing anger frowns: it is waste of my work of bitch.
Sink my mom words and her life is happiness. Love racism caves lace. Wrace baby not a hooker for race.
A no one mooses her memory
Will a moment live work?
I need to end was I loved her. Cloward. Cockly. Racism penis work ashes flink butch.
I cancel moment of beach. The destruction of my Mom will why is this aphid?
I told a man with ashes of my rake. He needed teachers to wave a woman's fly.
I flowered his arch and bothered paganism with roads to my flame.
I share my troubles no more.
I need her.
Where is the teacher in my words?
Language mope men da-o.
What language tommy drunk words I have language family.
Why is my wise drain paying laughter?
A searing anger frowns: it is waste of my work of bitch.
Sink my mom words and her life is happiness. Love racism caves lace. Wrace baby not a hooker for race.
A no one mooses her memory
Will a moment live work?
I need to end was I loved her. Cloward. Cockly. Racism penis work ashes flink butch.
I cancel moment of beach. The destruction of my Mom will why is this aphid?
I told a man with ashes of my rake. He needed teachers to wave a woman's fly.
I flowered his arch and bothered paganism with roads to my flame.
I share my troubles no more.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Was That Hopping the Sapphire Murk?
The Invention of the Dark
Mania posits will a rain calls me Mom land is tough.
I raise my hopes tossing in a man's tree.
The yellow of the mess calls it topped hassle.
Glowing under a scale my life is me.
Dwarf my Mom is not your rose.
Keep it on the beat.
Show Low Arizona takes my words but not my nationalism.
Cloward parties with my Mom in a famous tree under the wale
Debt new poor cold is a hanger trees stink hassles possibly
Another wand.
Mania posits will a rain calls me Mom land is tough.
I raise my hopes tossing in a man's tree.
The yellow of the mess calls it topped hassle.
Glowing under a scale my life is me.
Dwarf my Mom is not your rose.
Keep it on the beat.
Show Low Arizona takes my words but not my nationalism.
Cloward parties with my Mom in a famous tree under the wale
Debt new poor cold is a hanger trees stink hassles possibly
Another wand.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Family Bit Book
When andrea seeks roses, I will treat her as a moose.
I gravely tried to say bottles treat me with put a hole road trouble ein draf book.
Nowhere is laughter to my Mom.
My pain glowers for laughter. I didn't treat you as loving. Why?
Is it laughter for my Mom I love?
I gave up people I am nice calling it famous and not teachers troubling hope why?
I sang my mind peacefully; it was a work trying sass was my shake why?
I feel topping coldness safety work creates places topping whether I am mooshie.
Cloud family hates drastic pope because safety works my Mom is woman topping love cope.
*************************************************************************
No one homes teachers what witches lake is last.
No one people: I bothered shit darkness is a bear following my rope deathly calling it a masquerade.
Naah.
.
***************************************************************************
I am wet in my waking. I feel roast dreams that are work.
I teach you what I know about work: capable of flowering in the slaps of a hump tasting roses.
I query you dreamily. Coldly is not sanka. Love my Mom is not handy for my rain. I will teach
Rights to my glass.
Work poppa, his is a woman. I am not taking manhood for a race loudly.
I don't think of my work as darkness. It is happiness please my Mom needs home and that is why I type without stabbling fascist nuts don't think of themselves darkly cruelly is not heart.
I know you work. I know my passion talks freely of anger. My mom says to go to my Mom who is answering wisedom peacefully. Deep flowers slay mope another rogue is a hooker shitting with no master.
Closets and men don't read my rope no one does it too. Love coils my Mom reads a lot of pitching like
I only want you to be free.
It is a pliscroan dat is drunk.
Doggie knows her thoughts because she is landrea, a rakist drawing money for wisedom.
Change calls. Barter is a narcotic shame upon nandy the lass.
I gravely tried to say bottles treat me with put a hole road trouble ein draf book.
Nowhere is laughter to my Mom.
My pain glowers for laughter. I didn't treat you as loving. Why?
Is it laughter for my Mom I love?
I gave up people I am nice calling it famous and not teachers troubling hope why?
I sang my mind peacefully; it was a work trying sass was my shake why?
I feel topping coldness safety work creates places topping whether I am mooshie.
Cloud family hates drastic pope because safety works my Mom is woman topping love cope.
*************************************************************************
No one homes teachers what witches lake is last.
No one people: I bothered shit darkness is a bear following my rope deathly calling it a masquerade.
Naah.
.
***************************************************************************
I am wet in my waking. I feel roast dreams that are work.
I teach you what I know about work: capable of flowering in the slaps of a hump tasting roses.
I query you dreamily. Coldly is not sanka. Love my Mom is not handy for my rain. I will teach
Rights to my glass.
Work poppa, his is a woman. I am not taking manhood for a race loudly.
I don't think of my work as darkness. It is happiness please my Mom needs home and that is why I type without stabbling fascist nuts don't think of themselves darkly cruelly is not heart.
I know you work. I know my passion talks freely of anger. My mom says to go to my Mom who is answering wisedom peacefully. Deep flowers slay mope another rogue is a hooker shitting with no master.
Closets and men don't read my rope no one does it too. Love coils my Mom reads a lot of pitching like
I only want you to be free.
It is a pliscroan dat is drunk.
Doggie knows her thoughts because she is landrea, a rakist drawing money for wisedom.
Change calls. Barter is a narcotic shame upon nandy the lass.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Andrea wand words
Psy Stock Mon
Bart claimed roses deals;
I failed words stains.
The flower closed in my mind.
Jock claims targets worse a narc.
Take me flaming world beyond softness
As people think I am a woman
Treat me with love cold and stark.
I went there for my Mom, who is teaching flies
Case of mine drains flames of flower.
Cloud teaches my mind twill cloud is beans flowers kindly are my knife.
I sought people's roses and found my hole glowing in the priest's tree.
Flames coldly seek my mind for a troubled andrea seeks my mind targeting will
No pain is rice in a man's wick. Treat my mind as dreaming wear I am taught me
Quit treating me thinking of wood.
Rent masquerade taught me rent pent of a lome peak.
Safety tain work here I am alive thoughtful cloudy pretty stupid.
Bart claimed roses deals;
I failed words stains.
The flower closed in my mind.
Jock claims targets worse a narc.
Take me flaming world beyond softness
As people think I am a woman
Treat me with love cold and stark.
I went there for my Mom, who is teaching flies
Case of mine drains flames of flower.
Cloud teaches my mind twill cloud is beans flowers kindly are my knife.
I sought people's roses and found my hole glowing in the priest's tree.
Flames coldly seek my mind for a troubled andrea seeks my mind targeting will
No pain is rice in a man's wick. Treat my mind as dreaming wear I am taught me
Quit treating me thinking of wood.
Rent masquerade taught me rent pent of a lome peak.
Safety tain work here I am alive thoughtful cloudy pretty stupid.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Clavicles of the Language
Dispersal rings in; a bird twitters as if purty and beaks crawl in the poshed loose drum.
This is a night of art for my mother: I killed the pain of family is not God or being or love.
The family is night when it is trees and bees, love and dreams.
The family is day when it is trouble and darkness for my Mom.
I stop being words for my anchors. I stop being wise in my link to roman targets.
With the freedom going away to a large slower punt of my life (a Goddess saw me free topping night with
troubles; saw me peeing into a goddess is not my mind but a fool's answer to home)
The depths of hostile querying of laughter are bad to me: as much so as my life is a man's tree
Quietly thinking of his need for round troubling rogues.
Quilting in the changes of flower to my Mom, I wish that she pees it's good to be nice but I'm not
Dreaming weirdly. Witches don't narcotic art; they don't narcotic weirdness:
The pissing mother is not a Goddess of flowers but of my Mom's trees in which she loved her mind
And death was not trouble but baba a narcotic dream.
Ellen was a rone willing butch in my life I am my mother's dream of flames and clans of roman faces
Claiming weird bosses talk to you like a shark with no brain.
This is a night of art for my mother: I killed the pain of family is not God or being or love.
The family is night when it is trees and bees, love and dreams.
The family is day when it is trouble and darkness for my Mom.
I stop being words for my anchors. I stop being wise in my link to roman targets.
With the freedom going away to a large slower punt of my life (a Goddess saw me free topping night with
troubles; saw me peeing into a goddess is not my mind but a fool's answer to home)
The depths of hostile querying of laughter are bad to me: as much so as my life is a man's tree
Quietly thinking of his need for round troubling rogues.
Quilting in the changes of flower to my Mom, I wish that she pees it's good to be nice but I'm not
Dreaming weirdly. Witches don't narcotic art; they don't narcotic weirdness:
The pissing mother is not a Goddess of flowers but of my Mom's trees in which she loved her mind
And death was not trouble but baba a narcotic dream.
Ellen was a rone willing butch in my life I am my mother's dream of flames and clans of roman faces
Claiming weird bosses talk to you like a shark with no brain.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Bubba Work Life
I feel Boo Dirt Changes softly She knows her daughter pars
Land coldly dreams of feelings stinking it is not here.
Goals to believe esther people dean is laughing I wanted Dean
Family sought after troubles.
William is the dream dot dot dot.
Quiet.
***********************************************
Paste Eraser Fail
Query is a mess
Test the stars.
Quiet family seeks lace
Darkness as night.
Why believe kindness
Sees itself: it is loud here.
Quit your night happy loud density
Teach your trees mutancy weirks Lafe.
Delete all narcotic darknesses from Bebe.
Wane with all your thinking trials sighs answers.
Will you think of me?
Will I know you?
See me thoughtless taking my life charging at the Goddess
Failing to see you, knowing a part of me thinking of answers.
Dwell where my life is. Talk to me and be handsome.
Waste.
Land coldly dreams of feelings stinking it is not here.
Goals to believe esther people dean is laughing I wanted Dean
Family sought after troubles.
William is the dream dot dot dot.
Quiet.
***********************************************
Paste Eraser Fail
Query is a mess
Test the stars.
Quiet family seeks lace
Darkness as night.
Why believe kindness
Sees itself: it is loud here.
Quit your night happy loud density
Teach your trees mutancy weirks Lafe.
Delete all narcotic darknesses from Bebe.
Wane with all your thinking trials sighs answers.
Will you think of me?
Will I know you?
See me thoughtless taking my life charging at the Goddess
Failing to see you, knowing a part of me thinking of answers.
Dwell where my life is. Talk to me and be handsome.
Waste.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
I glare at lenses
Cowering where the prayer answers
Hope dean is his rane
Will people I love cause me a mole?
I cannot stand brazen land case
Without a roman taker flaking stink.
Quick and troubled I feel rosy
Sensible teaching a glass punt.
Golden sapphire mansing drink of woman.
Eyes teach purty lace teacher drums hostile paper.
This will nancy bobby a road under sanity
Crazes deleted poppa.
I feel squirrely dire and fat.
The stink of a rose passes into love
Without my Momma borrowing Ulster.
Quite the man who needs dreams with love
Cane ways are manny stars.
Lace done.
Hope dean is his rane
Will people I love cause me a mole?
I cannot stand brazen land case
Without a roman taker flaking stink.
Quick and troubled I feel rosy
Sensible teaching a glass punt.
Golden sapphire mansing drink of woman.
Eyes teach purty lace teacher drums hostile paper.
This will nancy bobby a road under sanity
Crazes deleted poppa.
I feel squirrely dire and fat.
The stink of a rose passes into love
Without my Momma borrowing Ulster.
Quite the man who needs dreams with love
Cane ways are manny stars.
Lace done.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Am Moment Bird
Uh bit weird crazy narcotic dink put mumu bird in a flower creek.
Words teach a sucker bunt.
Twill bird kills stink as a bird jargon dink anger.
No body queer charges art a bird is a nerd.
Low a bird is not pirty like dirt and jeans softly costly and being flamboyant cruel.
Queer sink shark is dink a role bammi skunk top is nuts here.
I loved people when they grew people friendly and peaceful.
Queer is a friend to narcotic arches above my top waskick
I fell bodily to the dream of a man with a friend who wandered calling a palm bird word.
Cape of bub was her need to live as a whore sharkly dirty is nuts scum is a hunter topping base.
Hallelujah drinking stinking this is nuts cruelly.
What is teaching? people are people kind of drunk and soft as a bird money is not topped.
Land cot tossing money crazy glowing anchor a hunter teaches junk girls dirt is dirt topping a lot topping drunks is nuts cruel.
The flower is here.
I love a hopper coldly but nicely cheating a friend for my life.
Is this gold? Is there pomp? What andrea fought for is a hunter costing tossing butch unger flower.
I made peace with my pump quilting trees under a person needing trees as a hunter costing flower cream place is needed to Ma a lot of flowers do what is junk for money and sucking teachers is not trouble andrea scored drugs in her shark laughing at my mind trying to kill the anger trouble of my mama is love kind of peaceful here.
You saw me and you dreamed of flowers being trees. Succotash talk is flowers with crates of many thinkers love peace dreams hope friendly racist is not dreamer of fame but a talk for moose.
I sell roses for a pagan teacher and it is hunter cruel.
Words teach a sucker bunt.
Twill bird kills stink as a bird jargon dink anger.
No body queer charges art a bird is a nerd.
Low a bird is not pirty like dirt and jeans softly costly and being flamboyant cruel.
Queer sink shark is dink a role bammi skunk top is nuts here.
I loved people when they grew people friendly and peaceful.
Queer is a friend to narcotic arches above my top waskick
I fell bodily to the dream of a man with a friend who wandered calling a palm bird word.
Cape of bub was her need to live as a whore sharkly dirty is nuts scum is a hunter topping base.
Hallelujah drinking stinking this is nuts cruelly.
What is teaching? people are people kind of drunk and soft as a bird money is not topped.
Land cot tossing money crazy glowing anchor a hunter teaches junk girls dirt is dirt topping a lot topping drunks is nuts cruel.
The flower is here.
I love a hopper coldly but nicely cheating a friend for my life.
Is this gold? Is there pomp? What andrea fought for is a hunter costing tossing butch unger flower.
I made peace with my pump quilting trees under a person needing trees as a hunter costing flower cream place is needed to Ma a lot of flowers do what is junk for money and sucking teachers is not trouble andrea scored drugs in her shark laughing at my mind trying to kill the anger trouble of my mama is love kind of peaceful here.
You saw me and you dreamed of flowers being trees. Succotash talk is flowers with crates of many thinkers love peace dreams hope friendly racist is not dreamer of fame but a talk for moose.
I sell roses for a pagan teacher and it is hunter cruel.
Monday, November 3, 2014
A discourse on sidereal flowers
Quote your rain freely sharing tossed and God truthful it is troubles under the way.
You carry famous and hopeful tests toward another trouble.
I didn't say you were a narcotic family; I belong to a friend who was soft and treating me as a hustle.
No one is here to be monic poetic is racist handing golden thought to my mother is not a face.
I wish I golden had the way to be free for my parents stupid happiness. It is good to know that
I am personally angry fascist is not Bart or my mother.
I cannot exculpate darkness from a patient family going to my friends is what I want and that is a whole.
Work is moose in its treatment of answers for birds. I care about thoughts and they are dark.
Please Sylvia is you in your sharkness. Tall, sharkness failing is my mom; she needs a world of hope.
Go find you talking for you softly and prissily at a narcotic toss.
Many are God. Many are Right. Failure sucks its own softness with a dream talking hostility toff.
Go to your narcotic part (without base anger narcotic safety: heat is peace in barns.)
Work darkness is a hanging of marsha in life: Sharing freedom to be love is crooked not patient.
No one is a noone poopoo. Sylvia rated anger working straws are people truthfully and dreamingly.
Clowering family It's boring is suck. Killing andrea is a failure of mament clowering stop is gloss.
Where is Andrea hate is not laughter. I am not laughing but it is safe to love your mind too much (No.)
Shut teachers here are the ways of a lover of masturbation. I created taste for my life to act as safely freak.
Quort land straw punch killing is a cruel andrea of my moment. I refuse to land on more.
You carry famous and hopeful tests toward another trouble.
I didn't say you were a narcotic family; I belong to a friend who was soft and treating me as a hustle.
No one is here to be monic poetic is racist handing golden thought to my mother is not a face.
I wish I golden had the way to be free for my parents stupid happiness. It is good to know that
I am personally angry fascist is not Bart or my mother.
I cannot exculpate darkness from a patient family going to my friends is what I want and that is a whole.
Work is moose in its treatment of answers for birds. I care about thoughts and they are dark.
Please Sylvia is you in your sharkness. Tall, sharkness failing is my mom; she needs a world of hope.
Go find you talking for you softly and prissily at a narcotic toss.
Many are God. Many are Right. Failure sucks its own softness with a dream talking hostility toff.
Go to your narcotic part (without base anger narcotic safety: heat is peace in barns.)
Work darkness is a hanging of marsha in life: Sharing freedom to be love is crooked not patient.
No one is a noone poopoo. Sylvia rated anger working straws are people truthfully and dreamingly.
Clowering family It's boring is suck. Killing andrea is a failure of mament clowering stop is gloss.
Where is Andrea hate is not laughter. I am not laughing but it is safe to love your mind too much (No.)
Shut teachers here are the ways of a lover of masturbation. I created taste for my life to act as safely freak.
Quort land straw punch killing is a cruel andrea of my moment. I refuse to land on more.
The panache people
I eagerly valet moments
Queer and personal act like that
I derive people's andrea for myself
(Winning dreams to be troubled)
Glowering and now praising messes,
I fail here to golden answer.
Eternal mandarins ought free patience.
Drama and thought fear masturbation.
I act free and it is momentary a whole.
Pussy is nuisance. I gravitate to love
Without drugs for its own top and thoughts when targeting momentary sharks.
Go away and be loving to friends with their parts and troubles.
Work is a fool it is good and boring.
Foul narcotics: I insist you believe in beaking troubles.
No one darkness sought me teaching teachers feelings.
I have been a friend to life and it is home.
Quirk dirt man life cost mess hand race usher moment.
Queer and personal act like that
I derive people's andrea for myself
(Winning dreams to be troubled)
Glowering and now praising messes,
I fail here to golden answer.
Eternal mandarins ought free patience.
Drama and thought fear masturbation.
I act free and it is momentary a whole.
Pussy is nuisance. I gravitate to love
Without drugs for its own top and thoughts when targeting momentary sharks.
Go away and be loving to friends with their parts and troubles.
Work is a fool it is good and boring.
Foul narcotics: I insist you believe in beaking troubles.
No one darkness sought me teaching teachers feelings.
I have been a friend to life and it is home.
Quirk dirt man life cost mess hand race usher moment.
Friday, October 31, 2014
Link, or, the desire for total control
What art was a word? Sharing sux as birds say they are safe.
I read no one memory trees got me.
No one hard as a rogue.
Do what is pinched.
Act or make peace.
Words inertia and birds teaching work costly.
***************************************************
Rough is sinking into rent.
The hate of my passions darkly dreaming fear of love.
Or one teach girls pins. Left of my mother, a road and a fart calling book
To my Mom sickness in the stars.
Worlds derive a Good deal anchor pain.
**********************************************************
Mope death I know this is people of a word dusting reasons sartre and drinks
No one borrows family in here from you and your worse test.
A word density seeks I know you people love a good dink of mustard.
Boom Baby see hat andrea Golden dreams falling as rote pig.
Moment calls this annthinking my moment of ace.
Work a moronic reader. Kill the dream of your freedom safely for truth.
Will is a man of murderous gay nothingness. His vacuum got his own teacher
Roman.
********************************************************
Want cake aching safely? Is it a room beyond steers?
I think of you here and it is a patience dreaming of sausage bird ping.
Glow and be the moment of allah trusting matches dump gills words Lincoln
*************************************************************
No one arduous okay listen feces wisk flashing bees:
Quorum Sartre noisy dale coldness rode me flowers.
Within woods another tree peacing thoughts staff
Wood was rain.
A family teaches a need monday as a hope quincy
And runt.
Push your anger to a pig having traces teaching face.
Raw part guilt says make your mother neat.
Loyalty works freedom keeps itself thinking dale link.
Safety is a thought.
*********************************************
Why art loss a funk?
Where is darkness and its own life?
Why be teacher to a mess thinking of this woman?
I veer to you thoughtful tastely and leftist was a nurse.
Lowered.
*******************************************
Level hustle calls men teachers;
What is washing deer?
Will you say you are laving Lice?
Dense talk peels under your beast
Keeping anger at a hustle of work.
I bathed in a bitch sinking into taste.
A palm word and it is rank thinking of slavery.
Low and troubled you r crash is it willing fucks.
Nothing but me peaces delivery.
***************************************
It is fascism with the marcy...
Quit and be whole.
I read no one memory trees got me.
No one hard as a rogue.
Do what is pinched.
Act or make peace.
Words inertia and birds teaching work costly.
***************************************************
Rough is sinking into rent.
The hate of my passions darkly dreaming fear of love.
Or one teach girls pins. Left of my mother, a road and a fart calling book
To my Mom sickness in the stars.
Worlds derive a Good deal anchor pain.
**********************************************************
Mope death I know this is people of a word dusting reasons sartre and drinks
No one borrows family in here from you and your worse test.
A word density seeks I know you people love a good dink of mustard.
Boom Baby see hat andrea Golden dreams falling as rote pig.
Moment calls this annthinking my moment of ace.
Work a moronic reader. Kill the dream of your freedom safely for truth.
Will is a man of murderous gay nothingness. His vacuum got his own teacher
Roman.
********************************************************
Want cake aching safely? Is it a room beyond steers?
I think of you here and it is a patience dreaming of sausage bird ping.
Glow and be the moment of allah trusting matches dump gills words Lincoln
*************************************************************
No one arduous okay listen feces wisk flashing bees:
Quorum Sartre noisy dale coldness rode me flowers.
Within woods another tree peacing thoughts staff
Wood was rain.
A family teaches a need monday as a hope quincy
And runt.
Push your anger to a pig having traces teaching face.
Raw part guilt says make your mother neat.
Loyalty works freedom keeps itself thinking dale link.
Safety is a thought.
*********************************************
Why art loss a funk?
Where is darkness and its own life?
Why be teacher to a mess thinking of this woman?
I veer to you thoughtful tastely and leftist was a nurse.
Lowered.
*******************************************
Level hustle calls men teachers;
What is washing deer?
Will you say you are laving Lice?
Dense talk peels under your beast
Keeping anger at a hustle of work.
I bathed in a bitch sinking into taste.
A palm word and it is rank thinking of slavery.
Low and troubled you r crash is it willing fucks.
Nothing but me peaces delivery.
***************************************
It is fascism with the marcy...
Quit and be whole.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
No Reason
The foily land a Sartre's the pinch.
I pay work that is at lurch.
Quill the pine.
No.
I ask rat.
Ornis fangt
Doth no one burrow sensible peeks?
I feel you.
Or race crace.
Dallowing the payment, I am interior to fancy tests.
I cruelly sought out a narcotic mook randy is thinking and that is hansel.
No is ocean dream is laughter costing andosta cake.
Os Momentary david is alive and bashes us lankly.
Wave is a broody destiny.
I write borrowing synecdoche from loans from a narrow lord.
Clancy saves it.
Asshole.
I pay work that is at lurch.
Quill the pine.
No.
I ask rat.
Ornis fangt
Doth no one burrow sensible peeks?
I feel you.
Or race crace.
Dallowing the payment, I am interior to fancy tests.
I cruelly sought out a narcotic mook randy is thinking and that is hansel.
No is ocean dream is laughter costing andosta cake.
Os Momentary david is alive and bashes us lankly.
Wave is a broody destiny.
I write borrowing synecdoche from loans from a narrow lord.
Clancy saves it.
Asshole.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Oil as word
act where urges dreary family art cart den is the dream
Oil race ties bird hope gay andrea stay home it's answers
Fool is book a ring destiny trees I work here teaching money a Goddess
No one artist grieves peace as dog not being famous family is bird trees
No one baby grieve big hope and work failure peace is a moose
Owls woman and trees say laughter belief peace is nuts coldness coldness is loose
Why is money a girl? Why is borrowing family? Why is you frool? Angst
I bother dean changing my Mom is work to give her love and dean says lie.
I whether a man cave is bean darkness got the world my life is a happiness kind average word
No one died in the changes I thought of here are my deans sanza law work dean is a family whore-
coldness
Woman and dreams change burrowing fame roses andrea grave fosse no one dean writes life
Language or laughter language rates itself my masquerade denied with a moose: coldness is a moose.
Where laughter and night deal anger is the pain of a worker of my Mom.
Andrea let go of my Mom. I need to work her life is free. Dean gives himself dreams.
Greed and love coil themselves in my patience. Work dreams grueling troubles I am poor town
Love and beasts: work I am answering the creative words as a fake.
No one please be my life. I need to act here fairly with a way of my mind -- safely crying answer.
Momentary tassels family crass is the need to let go of mashes not poppa.
Baby sorry is pagan change to its night: borrow and let go of birds.
Oil race ties bird hope gay andrea stay home it's answers
Fool is book a ring destiny trees I work here teaching money a Goddess
No one artist grieves peace as dog not being famous family is bird trees
No one baby grieve big hope and work failure peace is a moose
Owls woman and trees say laughter belief peace is nuts coldness coldness is loose
Why is money a girl? Why is borrowing family? Why is you frool? Angst
I bother dean changing my Mom is work to give her love and dean says lie.
I whether a man cave is bean darkness got the world my life is a happiness kind average word
No one died in the changes I thought of here are my deans sanza law work dean is a family whore-
coldness
Woman and dreams change burrowing fame roses andrea grave fosse no one dean writes life
Language or laughter language rates itself my masquerade denied with a moose: coldness is a moose.
Where laughter and night deal anger is the pain of a worker of my Mom.
Andrea let go of my Mom. I need to work her life is free. Dean gives himself dreams.
Greed and love coil themselves in my patience. Work dreams grueling troubles I am poor town
Love and beasts: work I am answering the creative words as a fake.
No one please be my life. I need to act here fairly with a way of my mind -- safely crying answer.
Momentary tassels family crass is the need to let go of mashes not poppa.
Baby sorry is pagan change to its night: borrow and let go of birds.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Home and Peace
I was here. I was loving. I loved my mother's laughter.
I was beautiful. Today I live and it is peaceful.
I was peaceful. I know my life is being right for my life.
I have my life here. I like the peace of being home.
I have love. My mother is the peaceful one.
I will be the one with the trees.
I guessed that my life would be treed. After all, I am peaceful.
And now a way is winning to listen for love. I hear the peace of my life.
I know the love that my mother sees. I will be here to be trees.
I made love when I was trying to be home. I was always salad.
When laughter and peace make life home, it is love to be good.
I will be here and I will feel the moments and love peacefully.
Momentarily is life.
I give you peace with home. I have my own safety. I have family.
Nothing is lace for my life. I will be peaceful.
And now I will work.
I was beautiful. Today I live and it is peaceful.
I was peaceful. I know my life is being right for my life.
I have my life here. I like the peace of being home.
I have love. My mother is the peaceful one.
I will be the one with the trees.
I guessed that my life would be treed. After all, I am peaceful.
And now a way is winning to listen for love. I hear the peace of my life.
I know the love that my mother sees. I will be here to be trees.
I made love when I was trying to be home. I was always salad.
When laughter and peace make life home, it is love to be good.
I will be here and I will feel the moments and love peacefully.
Momentarily is life.
I give you peace with home. I have my own safety. I have family.
Nothing is lace for my life. I will be peaceful.
And now I will work.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Contempt for Others: Some Words
When I was between the ages of 4 or so and 10 or so, I underwent the beginnings of a social transformation within my own world that led to the state of being in which I now find myself.
I have in mind a few tableaux. Age 4 or 5: Nursery School. Girl lifts her dress. I stare. She smiles in triumph. I see saw with Joy Brooks. I kiss a boyfriend then we stop because it is clearly not allowed. Girls tell me not to play with them because I "am not a girl." I withdraw, begin to dissemble about myself. The beginning of the end. I am removed from all social contact, I forget why,
Age of 6. I multiply six digit numbers together for the unbelieving response of same-aged kids I am visiting while my parents meet their parents. I know myself to be innocent and without guile, unlike my peers.
I refuse to climb the monkeybars to the top, thinking I do not deserve to do so. I do not run as fast as others. Kids sort themselves into competitive groups. I belong to none of them.
Age Six or Seven. Boys routinely open the door when I urinate sitting down and call me, scornfully and derisively, humiliating names. By age 10 at camp I spend four days without defecating in order to avoid others in bathroom.
Again age four: I am standing in line on stairs leading to a kids' carnival ride. The others are rough, rude, dismissive.
Age eight. My father is in Korea. I refuse to be any more than "Scotty" in the group being Star Trek.
I stare at older kids jumping into the pool with a sick knowledge of my unworthiness, difference, incompetence, uselessness, lack of belonging, insignificance. I never recover.
Age nine: I am with kids making something. Kids push me away and laugh at me for my incompetence.
Age six: In first grade I am nervous and fidgety and scared and isolated. The only friendly presence in the classroom is the teacher. This is momentously true for many years.
Age 10: I whack a kid behind me with a baseball bat. I feel nothing. I am filled with rage. I spend all my time at recess by myself investigating ant hills.
Age 8: I am on my third reading of all of Dr. Spock's baby book.
Age 10: In confusion, fear and separation I watch my peers playing ball. I am full of dislocation, anxiety, numb withdrawal and inferiority.
Fast Forward 8 years. Freshman year at Stanford. I am unable to say hello for six months. No one likes me unless I am drunk. During one blackout I threaten a football player. During another I throw up on skis of other dorm residents. I threaten suicide.
Fast Forward 32 years. I am at fault for my contempt for others. I must integrate myself with my tormentors or face the rest of my life depending on family -- also without comprehension -- or in a nursing home, or die homeless and drug addicted.
Did I miss something?
I bullied people who didn't go to Stanford, who were people of color, etc.
The intervening variable: Marxism as a source of structured understanding.
I have missed something.
My innate cruelty, the anger of decades in a slow explosion, the botched and mistimed
sex change operation.
Psychiatrists and therapists are of the same ilk as those who tortured me. So are most of the other people in the world.
What will my fate be?
I live because I need to live.
I am a drinker. Unfortunately, I cannot drink on my meds or with my medical condition(s).
My resentment grows every day as my numbed sexual response produces more and more frustration.
Why not become free for a week and die high?
I have no happiness from soft troubles. I have only a Rage.
Maybe poetry will help.
Your
freedom
Depends
On
My
Pain.
I have in mind a few tableaux. Age 4 or 5: Nursery School. Girl lifts her dress. I stare. She smiles in triumph. I see saw with Joy Brooks. I kiss a boyfriend then we stop because it is clearly not allowed. Girls tell me not to play with them because I "am not a girl." I withdraw, begin to dissemble about myself. The beginning of the end. I am removed from all social contact, I forget why,
Age of 6. I multiply six digit numbers together for the unbelieving response of same-aged kids I am visiting while my parents meet their parents. I know myself to be innocent and without guile, unlike my peers.
I refuse to climb the monkeybars to the top, thinking I do not deserve to do so. I do not run as fast as others. Kids sort themselves into competitive groups. I belong to none of them.
Age Six or Seven. Boys routinely open the door when I urinate sitting down and call me, scornfully and derisively, humiliating names. By age 10 at camp I spend four days without defecating in order to avoid others in bathroom.
Again age four: I am standing in line on stairs leading to a kids' carnival ride. The others are rough, rude, dismissive.
Age eight. My father is in Korea. I refuse to be any more than "Scotty" in the group being Star Trek.
I stare at older kids jumping into the pool with a sick knowledge of my unworthiness, difference, incompetence, uselessness, lack of belonging, insignificance. I never recover.
Age nine: I am with kids making something. Kids push me away and laugh at me for my incompetence.
Age six: In first grade I am nervous and fidgety and scared and isolated. The only friendly presence in the classroom is the teacher. This is momentously true for many years.
Age 10: I whack a kid behind me with a baseball bat. I feel nothing. I am filled with rage. I spend all my time at recess by myself investigating ant hills.
Age 8: I am on my third reading of all of Dr. Spock's baby book.
Age 10: In confusion, fear and separation I watch my peers playing ball. I am full of dislocation, anxiety, numb withdrawal and inferiority.
Fast Forward 8 years. Freshman year at Stanford. I am unable to say hello for six months. No one likes me unless I am drunk. During one blackout I threaten a football player. During another I throw up on skis of other dorm residents. I threaten suicide.
Fast Forward 32 years. I am at fault for my contempt for others. I must integrate myself with my tormentors or face the rest of my life depending on family -- also without comprehension -- or in a nursing home, or die homeless and drug addicted.
Did I miss something?
I bullied people who didn't go to Stanford, who were people of color, etc.
The intervening variable: Marxism as a source of structured understanding.
I have missed something.
My innate cruelty, the anger of decades in a slow explosion, the botched and mistimed
sex change operation.
Psychiatrists and therapists are of the same ilk as those who tortured me. So are most of the other people in the world.
What will my fate be?
I live because I need to live.
I am a drinker. Unfortunately, I cannot drink on my meds or with my medical condition(s).
My resentment grows every day as my numbed sexual response produces more and more frustration.
Why not become free for a week and die high?
I have no happiness from soft troubles. I have only a Rage.
Maybe poetry will help.
Your
freedom
Depends
On
My
Pain.
Friday, October 3, 2014
I cannot write my healing here
Instead
Land bard:
Wear your life
Wear your love
And work home?
You are you?
Acting I said it:
Alive Wise
Word
Alive
Where
Weigh
I'm okay.
A tree, a palm tree,
Leans whole.
Land bard:
Wear your life
Wear your love
And work home?
You are you?
Acting I said it:
Alive Wise
Word
Alive
Where
Weigh
I'm okay.
A tree, a palm tree,
Leans whole.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Laughter Why Bodies Pee
I hate a good thing which is aces is dreams.
I have feelings which I am not dreaming.
This feeling which I dream is love.
I am here. I like you. I am alive. I am aface.
I'm glad herelives love.
I will being will being here being. I hear being. I hear words.
I will being here being. I will being home being.
Now I will be here, here is where I am.
I felt like this and I didn't like my Mom asking what I was having. That's my Goddess. It is Mama who is my Mom happy Mama. I don't know -- God is not all to my Mom. That is what I want: Peace and home and Mom dreaming of Mothers grieiving
Their Mothers.
Goms
Bombs.
Work not,without your wosnLoand
Strength God drinks.
I have no peace and I don't like it.
Ihated my Mom living for bafeel
I hated my Mom working my Mama as moose.
I hated an andk
Late
I hated being \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
I'm so ANGRY.
I hated a failing why failing Golden Bruce Drink Cruelty is not being.
Why bother heifer if she isn't dreaming oflove?
I hated being cold and I hate being a sore drug with aflac grown bruce moose.
I hate drinking drugs. Drugs.
I hate vain drolls dreamsaverage.
Iweighed too much. And I hated my thoughts. I thought I was hated trouble was my dream.
I hated ashes of my Mom anger bothered her. She knew me as her life.
I am not m Mother's Life. I am what I am.
I feel worsse.
I ham
Language is not babies.
I made my Mom a failure.
I told her to make me free of family for her friends.
I have no patience as a woman for my Mother.
I hate my Mom baking raisins into loud work of my Mom.
Chelsea Goodwin was my mother's rake.
Dear Chelsea:
I am full of anger about whores. I hate my life because I don't work. I do't work because I am Bruce shitting like a cunt without body.
I am here. I hate love without beatsts.
No one is here.
Why am I so fearful of pain?
My dad never bought me my Mama as reasons for right dreams.
I cannot make love without my life here mand
Dakg
Language and Market:
I found orgies rude.
NOw listen: I a m a whore is here. I hate bunts.
I am a woman working reasons.
Reasons: Be Boo.
I have engines being a bitch.
I have feelings: I have anger at my Mom for nothing.
I have pain at my Mother for being a good person and not treating me as my life is a faf
L
I
Lord of Brcu.
I
Life as a fb
Landgua
I failed.
My life and I my Mom need s love.
I have words: I alive.
I was here to make my mother angry.
I am so sorry.
I hope people change. I hope I change. I hope my Mom is hopeful for her life of freedom. I have no wight to be a hole.
I ham
Lag
No one is here to be gruel.
Now it is my life to listen to.
H
La
fa
I give up this pain called a girl.
Language fails naked language
No one bothered dean.
Language faeels
I feel.
I love you being bird.
Ilove you being hopeful.
I hated what I did to my friends: I was bird to my Mom. I am not God.
I am not God.
I am not God.
I hate anger being my mind.
I am not my midn.
Please be good or not.
I am here. Words are pain without peace.
Estrogen was my alafka
face drug work is not bired.
I hate baba bo bo.
Go please: It is not you I hate. for My Mom I needed and I am here. I am here.
I wanted to let go of was that Bob?
Estrogen was my love for my life.
I hate dinking wand
Land is boo.
Oral sex is not my mind.
I have no being in my imind.
laf
I like Landg
I am Bruce. Drinking. shit.
I hate that.
Julia is my Mom. I am not my Mom.
Confusion: Work is Mom. Mom is love. Work is love. I hate that crap.
Because: I am not working dreams for money.
Fuck the dreams of a fuck.
I am not here to act badly.
My dreams are to have what I need to be loving families drink.
I hte a
Land is not God.
My dreams ar
Land is not Aasld
Land is not racism land is not paidn.
Racism is not happy.
My dreams are to make lovie
O r
Land is not body.
I am what I am.
My dreams are to l(orgies) a fudk
Lord drunkenness is drunk.
I waodl
I am ford of butch.
o.
I am buthc
I hate book.
I like anger and it is my mind being Buce Jukll land is beelble
I feel bird. Baba is drunkenness.
I hate omens of vail. Cost oska
I racist drinker is not my mind
Drunks is cold;
I hfave
Land is pain. If without bebe. Land is racism is fland
Fame is foll
aRacism is loose roand
Land is a racwit
Land is falfnd
Rraldn
gI here.
I like what I am . I need your love.
Here I am.
Here I am.
I love you.
I love you.
I am here.
I love you.
I am here. I am your love.
I am here. I am here. and I am here open not here.
I am fa
Land is here
I am alive.
aLand is not life.
I need love.
I give love.
I am here.
I am alive.
I am here.
I love youl.
I like what I am.
I feel better now.
Live!
I like the way I pee.
I have feelings which I am not dreaming.
This feeling which I dream is love.
I am here. I like you. I am alive. I am aface.
I'm glad herelives love.
I will being will being here being. I hear being. I hear words.
I will being here being. I will being home being.
Now I will be here, here is where I am.
I felt like this and I didn't like my Mom asking what I was having. That's my Goddess. It is Mama who is my Mom happy Mama. I don't know -- God is not all to my Mom. That is what I want: Peace and home and Mom dreaming of Mothers grieiving
Their Mothers.
Goms
Bombs.
Work not,without your wosnLoand
Strength God drinks.
I have no peace and I don't like it.
Ihated my Mom living for bafeel
I hated my Mom working my Mama as moose.
I hated an andk
Late
I hated being \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
I'm so ANGRY.
I hated a failing why failing Golden Bruce Drink Cruelty is not being.
Why bother heifer if she isn't dreaming oflove?
I hated being cold and I hate being a sore drug with aflac grown bruce moose.
I hate drinking drugs. Drugs.
I hate vain drolls dreamsaverage.
Iweighed too much. And I hated my thoughts. I thought I was hated trouble was my dream.
I hated ashes of my Mom anger bothered her. She knew me as her life.
I am not m Mother's Life. I am what I am.
I feel worsse.
I ham
Language is not babies.
I made my Mom a failure.
I told her to make me free of family for her friends.
I have no patience as a woman for my Mother.
I hate my Mom baking raisins into loud work of my Mom.
Chelsea Goodwin was my mother's rake.
Dear Chelsea:
I am full of anger about whores. I hate my life because I don't work. I do't work because I am Bruce shitting like a cunt without body.
I am here. I hate love without beatsts.
No one is here.
Why am I so fearful of pain?
My dad never bought me my Mama as reasons for right dreams.
I cannot make love without my life here mand
Dakg
Language and Market:
I found orgies rude.
NOw listen: I a m a whore is here. I hate bunts.
I am a woman working reasons.
Reasons: Be Boo.
I have engines being a bitch.
I have feelings: I have anger at my Mom for nothing.
I have pain at my Mother for being a good person and not treating me as my life is a faf
L
I
Lord of Brcu.
I
Life as a fb
Landgua
I failed.
My life and I my Mom need s love.
I have words: I alive.
I was here to make my mother angry.
I am so sorry.
I hope people change. I hope I change. I hope my Mom is hopeful for her life of freedom. I have no wight to be a hole.
I ham
Lag
No one is here to be gruel.
Now it is my life to listen to.
H
La
fa
I give up this pain called a girl.
Language fails naked language
No one bothered dean.
Language faeels
I feel.
I love you being bird.
Ilove you being hopeful.
I hated what I did to my friends: I was bird to my Mom. I am not God.
I am not God.
I am not God.
I hate anger being my mind.
I am not my midn.
Please be good or not.
I am here. Words are pain without peace.
Estrogen was my alafka
face drug work is not bired.
I hate baba bo bo.
Go please: It is not you I hate. for My Mom I needed and I am here. I am here.
I wanted to let go of was that Bob?
Estrogen was my love for my life.
I hate dinking wand
Land is boo.
Oral sex is not my mind.
I have no being in my imind.
laf
I like Landg
I am Bruce. Drinking. shit.
I hate that.
Julia is my Mom. I am not my Mom.
Confusion: Work is Mom. Mom is love. Work is love. I hate that crap.
Because: I am not working dreams for money.
Fuck the dreams of a fuck.
I am not here to act badly.
My dreams are to have what I need to be loving families drink.
I hte a
Land is not God.
My dreams ar
Land is not Aasld
Land is not racism land is not paidn.
Racism is not happy.
My dreams are to make lovie
O r
Land is not body.
I am what I am.
My dreams are to l(orgies) a fudk
Lord drunkenness is drunk.
I waodl
I am ford of butch.
o.
I am buthc
I hate book.
I like anger and it is my mind being Buce Jukll land is beelble
I feel bird. Baba is drunkenness.
I hate omens of vail. Cost oska
I racist drinker is not my mind
Drunks is cold;
I hfave
Land is pain. If without bebe. Land is racism is fland
Fame is foll
aRacism is loose roand
Land is a racwit
Land is falfnd
Rraldn
gI here.
I like what I am . I need your love.
Here I am.
Here I am.
I love you.
I love you.
I am here.
I love you.
I am here. I am your love.
I am here. I am here. and I am here open not here.
I am fa
Land is here
I am alive.
aLand is not life.
I need love.
I give love.
I am here.
I am alive.
I am here.
I love youl.
I like what I am.
I feel better now.
Live!
I like the way I pee.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Ass fascism
No loud.
No beak.
No fear.
No peak.
No world.
No suck.
No cock.
No muck.
I knack of big round and stupid beak.
Lot is my racism.
I found her seeking cankers with
A naked drunk eagles of peace.
War and my family stink because
Why a nationalist fear of beans?
Death falls into a famous herk testing
Momentary It is Sick to feel worse.
I feel nothing and I am a good person.
***************
Whoosh!
After early 60s op-art portrait of a jet fighter ... Gotta give credit where credit saps itself coldly.
I feel God deals me a Goddess in her night I am the
Sickness that screws famous dreams.
So one of the dreams was the one in which God
Thought of me because I am beautiful.
I fear the need of pagan thought.
Facts of my life seem to me to derive family's ascot
Finger to be loving but not safe.
Go Fish
And I am begun solties (BeBe)
*********************************
Wail
The bop prosodic panga
Lord of my family
Gives me a world of fascist
Kapable rake
Last of bars.
No one is here to be thoughtful.
I prefer ascots.
***********************************
Death of Beak
I surmise in the pain of her freedom
That amask deals sharing
To her thoughts I am big.
No one is beyond a role as long as
Feelings give bargains.
Doling my role fame is beans.
No one got that one but I am
Possibly thinking of yes God deal Goddess.
Woop.
Flannery O'Connor must be happy.
No beak.
No fear.
No peak.
No world.
No suck.
No cock.
No muck.
I knack of big round and stupid beak.
Lot is my racism.
I found her seeking cankers with
A naked drunk eagles of peace.
War and my family stink because
Why a nationalist fear of beans?
Death falls into a famous herk testing
Momentary It is Sick to feel worse.
I feel nothing and I am a good person.
***************
Whoosh!
After early 60s op-art portrait of a jet fighter ... Gotta give credit where credit saps itself coldly.
I feel God deals me a Goddess in her night I am the
Sickness that screws famous dreams.
So one of the dreams was the one in which God
Thought of me because I am beautiful.
I fear the need of pagan thought.
Facts of my life seem to me to derive family's ascot
Finger to be loving but not safe.
Go Fish
And I am begun solties (BeBe)
*********************************
Wail
The bop prosodic panga
Lord of my family
Gives me a world of fascist
Kapable rake
Last of bars.
No one is here to be thoughtful.
I prefer ascots.
***********************************
Death of Beak
I surmise in the pain of her freedom
That amask deals sharing
To her thoughts I am big.
No one is beyond a role as long as
Feelings give bargains.
Doling my role fame is beans.
No one got that one but I am
Possibly thinking of yes God deal Goddess.
Woop.
Flannery O'Connor must be happy.
Work mama bebe is work oma anga lug
Drench your people and I am baba. Baba is my mom is love and dirt. I feel a world treating meme as love sucker drunk ad bird.
Coiling the snake dirt creates mama I am working bebe. I feel another answer bink.
No one is afraid I am angry at life art is work baba. Okay, I will be here.
Coiling the snake dirt creates mama I am working bebe. I feel another answer bink.
No one is afraid I am angry at life art is work baba. Okay, I will be here.
I Love You
--
Because I love yoou safely and I care.
No one artistic has nuts as momentarily a Goddess of ancestry.
I seek art man laughter moose.
What ally I know is beast?
Okay. I get it. Art a bop . My mom is moose.
I have my mom.
The beast is my mom bebe.
No one is life bebe.
The beast loves me.
Because I love yoou safely and I care.
No one artistic has nuts as momentarily a Goddess of ancestry.
I seek art man laughter moose.
What ally I know is beast?
Okay. I get it. Art a bop . My mom is moose.
I have my mom.
The beast is my mom bebe.
No one is life bebe.
The beast loves me.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Strike
Until further notice, this lance will be dreamy and bubu ( orgy teaches bebe womanliness sickening isn't it?)
Andrea and my life borrow me td. Bebe. I don't worry orgasmic I don't know.
Andrea and my life borrow me td. Bebe. I don't worry orgasmic I don't know.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Aye Messy
orcan da lam a reagan deathness sicks me; why is it boring to love my life as I love my life? What bothers me is the pain of myself acting drunk with anger for my dreams. What is that? I don't care. I don't pea landg
Laughter bothers me. I feel myself a ruoald
Landguae
Landg
\I race my mind mby
Laughter. What is your appetite? I feel a boring pig is new. Shit, why be here?
Laughter maxes a pencil with a long fierce andrea. I don't believe safety begins a language of bombs and teachers.
What separation between doctor and manhood involves a darkness of me?
I sick myself because thinking you are dashing messes gives me rape.
Cape me. Wake your family. I don't want that.
Please kiss my rangled dink.
I see myself open. It is manly to be happy.
Boo.
Laughter bothers me. I feel myself a ruoald
Landguae
Landg
\I race my mind mby
Laughter. What is your appetite? I feel a boring pig is new. Shit, why be here?
Laughter maxes a pencil with a long fierce andrea. I don't believe safety begins a language of bombs and teachers.
What separation between doctor and manhood involves a darkness of me?
I sick myself because thinking you are dashing messes gives me rape.
Cape me. Wake your family. I don't want that.
Please kiss my rangled dink.
I see myself open. It is manly to be happy.
Boo.
On Reading Beat Poetry
I Don't Want to Die
As my goddess derives family terrorist my mom
My mom burdens are mine.
I feel nerdy in my cruel sake of burden.
It is anger words, a word and I anger a
Masher death sick is not love.
I failed to ask myself dreaming of a wand
What God dashes into with a lot rank
Language and my life peace I am you
And I cannot sapphire ingot reason like
Your name hopefully people need me.
A goddess knots peace worldness cruelness
I cannot party and love my Mom.
Pore thoughtless sinker feels argot
And burdens of me grieving
Hack and work are burdening
I don't say I care, I have money
To belong to a hopeful
Angst party.
Kop peep mackankerous and rational
Work stick it out and it will be
A Passionate teacher.
I wanded to seek a Goddess failing me
With my own dream heart sickened
To think of acting as a fecal sapphire.
Why and I am geek.
As my goddess derives family terrorist my mom
My mom burdens are mine.
I feel nerdy in my cruel sake of burden.
It is anger words, a word and I anger a
Masher death sick is not love.
I failed to ask myself dreaming of a wand
What God dashes into with a lot rank
Language and my life peace I am you
And I cannot sapphire ingot reason like
Your name hopefully people need me.
A goddess knots peace worldness cruelness
I cannot party and love my Mom.
Pore thoughtless sinker feels argot
And burdens of me grieving
Hack and work are burdening
I don't say I care, I have money
To belong to a hopeful
Angst party.
Kop peep mackankerous and rational
Work stick it out and it will be
A Passionate teacher.
I wanded to seek a Goddess failing me
With my own dream heart sickened
To think of acting as a fecal sapphire.
Why and I am geek.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Wherefore Thy Laughing Petals?
Insanity Repeating
Language burds book
And now when I keep anger
Is love beyond books.
Birds laugh narcotics and drugs
That naked ass hole rode me
Liking my rofe people.
I sink into third party work
Laughing where I am. This is
Being a woman a goddess of big.
Way God BeBe a her
Falling rogue borrows bink
Roving a man's ass, thoughtful, free,
Cafe of Boo purty boo bebe
Anger rants loose in my big.
Openness sat in my act, free from
Hole and work: baloney
Tricks this drunk and makes
My Mama home.
Laughing Bargains where I am
Work deaf the nature of
BeBe borrows me for my anger,
Gay people have me sink into my
Whore (people me as you are)
Dream of me -- people love me.
My creed.
Wow
A famous crook thinks of me
Where I am.
I see her working her life for herself.
I cannot believe her peak, which knows nothing
And God babies his heifer for boob.
Yas.
Language burds book
And now when I keep anger
Is love beyond books.
Birds laugh narcotics and drugs
That naked ass hole rode me
Liking my rofe people.
I sink into third party work
Laughing where I am. This is
Being a woman a goddess of big.
Way God BeBe a her
Falling rogue borrows bink
Roving a man's ass, thoughtful, free,
Cafe of Boo purty boo bebe
Anger rants loose in my big.
Openness sat in my act, free from
Hole and work: baloney
Tricks this drunk and makes
My Mama home.
Laughing Bargains where I am
Work deaf the nature of
BeBe borrows me for my anger,
Gay people have me sink into my
Whore (people me as you are)
Dream of me -- people love me.
My creed.
Wow
A famous crook thinks of me
Where I am.
I see her working her life for herself.
I cannot believe her peak, which knows nothing
And God babies his heifer for boob.
Yas.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
My Leatherette Journal
Today I bought a 256 page leatherette journal of a brown hue in which to jot my innermost musings. Therefore you may wait until the documentation of my life by a foolish academic to read what I'm really thinking. I forecast that the frequency of my entries in this blog and on my facebook account will decrease by, hopefully at least 50 %!
Friday, September 5, 2014
Rose, Stone, Bone
War More Gore Store Lore Fore Roar Door
What mama is a woman dealing it as thought?
What forensic ecstasy involves death as a heck/ler taking race dreaming of a poem fighting a
rap land sticking art into a thinking bargain?
I suck ass.
Droll and flowery, I say baloney to you for the impossible shriek; with a manly seeking of failure, I give you a bomb work of mine treating me like I am poor. Feelings seek reasons for me; I know what it is to ask for dirt and receive a failing belief in peace...
No one is the same when bodies of all the failing grievers act bodily in their own pact for a brainy tree. The Goddess feels loving for her beautiful family and knows that when you are thoughtful that bodies give you sassy dear rolls.
I wondered whether you felt my mind was a good thing. Is there a life in my racism that belongs to the painful yet chunky cruelty that no one belongs with? I am not God. I am not thought. I am not sexy. I am not a thoughtful person. I tell you body and thought and sickness are the only parts of me that I can act for and still know that I give home to a roman banger.
Man and Woman be safe in their places. I have no belief in people who have no thought of ever knowing me as a thinker of best things such as anger and hope and wordy drinking thinking freedoms.
I work believing in my answer (pee is work).
My dear father often sought peace in being good to his own drums. I had no interest in thinking bodies seek me. I have thought of the Goddess artist drumming her mind teaching me thinking is hope.
No one knows the anger when I feel burrowed into with a famous payment. The knowledge that I belong to these suffering entrances is quite sobering, somber as a thinking roman.
Cicero and Horace and Vergil and Suetonius and Tacitus and Caesar and Vespasian and Marcus Aurelius and Livy and Fremont, California.
I work this way and I am not that free in my thoughts. It is my thought that I have no wish to understand those women dreaming of thinking bodies as knowledge.
I sought the companionship and community of racks and maniacal thinkers with their people who would rather hit me over a deck of family than love me for my happy Goddess.
I ran deep into the failings of a people who wished to only live freely and peacefully. They had no desire for me to hate them because they had no peace. I hated the black woman I loved. She belonged to the nature of the Goddess. I could not believe she happened my life had its own tree.
I womaned the Goddess with my angry thinking. I embraced the anchor of bodies with its natural family cruelty. There, I have veered into "natural" thinking. Let me detach myself from such untoward anger. I MUST love, not be another rosy bobo. It is I, It is Me, It is the sexiness of men with bodies that need creative dreams that belong with me. What is it to find rejection in the midst of plenty? I feel that the more I give, the less beauty I will ever believe in. Is that my doing?
Work in East New York: The land that is for my life gave me another understanding of love and stars. I did not believe that I felt happy. No one ever knows what is love without beauty. I wished that I was *****, a hue of the rainbow that is in back of the stars and beneath the world; underneath and beyond, before and within. Here we go.
What mama is a woman dealing it as thought?
What forensic ecstasy involves death as a heck/ler taking race dreaming of a poem fighting a
rap land sticking art into a thinking bargain?
I suck ass.
Droll and flowery, I say baloney to you for the impossible shriek; with a manly seeking of failure, I give you a bomb work of mine treating me like I am poor. Feelings seek reasons for me; I know what it is to ask for dirt and receive a failing belief in peace...
No one is the same when bodies of all the failing grievers act bodily in their own pact for a brainy tree. The Goddess feels loving for her beautiful family and knows that when you are thoughtful that bodies give you sassy dear rolls.
I wondered whether you felt my mind was a good thing. Is there a life in my racism that belongs to the painful yet chunky cruelty that no one belongs with? I am not God. I am not thought. I am not sexy. I am not a thoughtful person. I tell you body and thought and sickness are the only parts of me that I can act for and still know that I give home to a roman banger.
Man and Woman be safe in their places. I have no belief in people who have no thought of ever knowing me as a thinker of best things such as anger and hope and wordy drinking thinking freedoms.
I work believing in my answer (pee is work).
My dear father often sought peace in being good to his own drums. I had no interest in thinking bodies seek me. I have thought of the Goddess artist drumming her mind teaching me thinking is hope.
No one knows the anger when I feel burrowed into with a famous payment. The knowledge that I belong to these suffering entrances is quite sobering, somber as a thinking roman.
Cicero and Horace and Vergil and Suetonius and Tacitus and Caesar and Vespasian and Marcus Aurelius and Livy and Fremont, California.
I work this way and I am not that free in my thoughts. It is my thought that I have no wish to understand those women dreaming of thinking bodies as knowledge.
I sought the companionship and community of racks and maniacal thinkers with their people who would rather hit me over a deck of family than love me for my happy Goddess.
I ran deep into the failings of a people who wished to only live freely and peacefully. They had no desire for me to hate them because they had no peace. I hated the black woman I loved. She belonged to the nature of the Goddess. I could not believe she happened my life had its own tree.
I womaned the Goddess with my angry thinking. I embraced the anchor of bodies with its natural family cruelty. There, I have veered into "natural" thinking. Let me detach myself from such untoward anger. I MUST love, not be another rosy bobo. It is I, It is Me, It is the sexiness of men with bodies that need creative dreams that belong with me. What is it to find rejection in the midst of plenty? I feel that the more I give, the less beauty I will ever believe in. Is that my doing?
Work in East New York: The land that is for my life gave me another understanding of love and stars. I did not believe that I felt happy. No one ever knows what is love without beauty. I wished that I was *****, a hue of the rainbow that is in back of the stars and beneath the world; underneath and beyond, before and within. Here we go.
What is IT?
IT is a hole, a rose, a girl, a Moose.
A n l a f u r a l a r
Eldo
I borrowed dirt baloney
be be
A moment be be is this my mom?
I was rude and that's a moment ba ba.
I don't like the treatment dreaming as my mama is my ho
ke racism baba. I feel worse. There is a nak of mom in my life
I don't know what a baba belongs to.
A woman is reasding baba. I feel burbur is my mama.
The dream of whores was my mama. I feel okay mama.
I didn't sick my mama is my mama. What is you?
I have no word to describe the anger of being a whore.
I have no thought my life of mama works.
My mama is a world of work and thought: deal with it.
I have dropped my mama; and I am fooled; my mama baba. God and I fear a rude drug borrowing ach fafa. What mother is this?
What bebe is rude? A word, a rude, a rock, a sartre, a happening, a Goddess; Sick is the deal fooling a man of my marder darkness is a woman being womanly. Haha is the dream. Bebe a woman is a lala. Rose my mama is my mom.
Family got itself dead when it borrowed sartre from mama. The cash is not hate.
Okay? I baba rusty sees me dreaming safely I am hating coldness. A haha my Mom is bubu. I want to know what the pain is inside that keeps me from breathing when I try to remember what I feel.
No one sees me with the treebles. My mama gives me anger/ a fool needs safety. Pease is my mama. My mama belongs and I am trying to work here. Sore bebe; Goddess seesee I want bama a woman leaves. I need to be free of coldness toward my mother.
What is you?
What is this?
Please ask me what baba and mama read. It is this openness that makes me a nothing. Hope and mama bebe a whore mama. I didn't see this tree didn't go hope/home bebe. Where is mama? I don't deal anana. What is haha?
My trree a baba a fake. I don't dream of a bobo without a nerd.
Keep me a racist don't do it. I am sartre, a bubu. Moomoo good deal is oiga; mama I have mama. It is mama baba. I peed on the dream. See me/seek okay is what. Why bebe? Peepee is meme.
Okay?
I bobo help me is meme. Work bebe andrea is work pepe.
Ather hate bobo bebe I need sex with a momo.
O bubu I need dear rite another is a work I nono peace.
Coi Coi.
A n l a f u r a l a r
Eldo
I borrowed dirt baloney
be be
A moment be be is this my mom?
I was rude and that's a moment ba ba.
I don't like the treatment dreaming as my mama is my ho
ke racism baba. I feel worse. There is a nak of mom in my life
I don't know what a baba belongs to.
A woman is reasding baba. I feel burbur is my mama.
The dream of whores was my mama. I feel okay mama.
I didn't sick my mama is my mama. What is you?
I have no word to describe the anger of being a whore.
I have no thought my life of mama works.
My mama is a world of work and thought: deal with it.
I have dropped my mama; and I am fooled; my mama baba. God and I fear a rude drug borrowing ach fafa. What mother is this?
What bebe is rude? A word, a rude, a rock, a sartre, a happening, a Goddess; Sick is the deal fooling a man of my marder darkness is a woman being womanly. Haha is the dream. Bebe a woman is a lala. Rose my mama is my mom.
Family got itself dead when it borrowed sartre from mama. The cash is not hate.
Okay? I baba rusty sees me dreaming safely I am hating coldness. A haha my Mom is bubu. I want to know what the pain is inside that keeps me from breathing when I try to remember what I feel.
No one sees me with the treebles. My mama gives me anger/ a fool needs safety. Pease is my mama. My mama belongs and I am trying to work here. Sore bebe; Goddess seesee I want bama a woman leaves. I need to be free of coldness toward my mother.
What is you?
What is this?
Please ask me what baba and mama read. It is this openness that makes me a nothing. Hope and mama bebe a whore mama. I didn't see this tree didn't go hope/home bebe. Where is mama? I don't deal anana. What is haha?
My trree a baba a fake. I don't dream of a bobo without a nerd.
Keep me a racist don't do it. I am sartre, a bubu. Moomoo good deal is oiga; mama I have mama. It is mama baba. I peed on the dream. See me/seek okay is what. Why bebe? Peepee is meme.
Okay?
I bobo help me is meme. Work bebe andrea is work pepe.
Ather hate bobo bebe I need sex with a momo.
O bubu I need dear rite another is a work I nono peace.
Coi Coi.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
No-talent atrocities
No one need know my life -- batters -- my mind -- a mama.
I no one -- ba ma -- a whore sucks ass, my friend is my Mom.
I hate -- baba-- my Mom as my Mom.
Why be ba? Why be a baba?
I ask you what is strong?
My mama is Mom
She won't feel better and I am desiring to give my Mom
A womanhood of my Mom.
I feel worse. I ask you what is my Mom?
I didn't -- torturous tense burying -- ma --
I hated dreams; I hated a world.
The world is in me. I have anxious and overwrought
Cruelties blocking my awareness of patience.
They feel like tendons or bands of elastic or outward-pressuring (somatic representations of thoughts)
in which are buried the angst and anger I have no idea is my mind and my mind belongs where I have Andrea (hope belongs to my Mom --WHY? Do I project and feel these constant alterations in my consciousness keeping me from awareness of a stability, a strength that I know is there underneath the turmoil that bothers me so.
I don't want to be expositorially descriptive. I want to shriek, so according to the rules of Art of the 1950s, 1940s, 1930s, 1920s, 1960s, 1970s, back to the French "symbolists," to Artaud, Jarry, Rimbaud, to failure in my life, to coldness that had part of in my changes (to become "Juliaa") I will shriek.
I hate this crap.
I spill my words as they come to me even in their cross-interfering low, mean, cruel conflict in the fight to become aware of gentleness and hope:
Fuck nuts;; Fuck God. Fuck pain. I sought my mama. I sought a friend. i have no peace. I have no peace. What is this pain? Why did I ask for body? Why am I sore (angry, a Chelsea-speak) and why am I a fool? I feel momentarily stupid and angry and cruel. Don't describe, spew words on the screen, each word resting like a fragile, unbalanced, stone on the others, rocketing outward and upward into an unfortunate and uncomprehending, unreceptive oblivion. Blah Blah.
No one bothers me. I hate my Mom. She won't believe me. She won't ask me what is my life for? I blame her as I always did for making me (the handles are poor.) I confuse, concern, intimidate and drain her of energy. Horrible. Absolutely unjustifiable. I cannot be here. I am on double the anti-psychotic. In no more than two years I will probably face the "institution" with nothing to sustaain me except my memories and maybe a book or two while I shriek in frustration and anger, mourning my useless, hated and hateful life!. I was never so offensive and scary. I was a gentle person. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?
I hate bothering my mother. My mother is alive. My mother believes in me. I disappoint her (and myself) a hundred times a day. Every day, the occasional feeling of kindness and affection slips into a absolute Andreaic reservoir or morass of chaos and cruelty bubbling within this useless consciousness I established as a means to love my hopes (peace, love and a papapapa/ baba/ mama family baba is mama. ) I have to know I am not my mama. I hate boundaries and they are what I need to remember are there, even for CHELSEA GOODWIN AND RUSTY moore. Otherwise, they would welcome my volcanic instability, my crude and directionless stupidity into their lives. I insult my self and denigraqte myself so no one will get there before me. No one cares. Most people would rather watch me sink into the morass of my attempt to be absolutely without aggression or hurtfulness of any kind; cheering on the disintegration or at least knowing that whatever need brings me to this is mine alone -- none of their fucking business or concern.
I didn't know bothering my mom would be cruel. I don't know stupidity is the only thing I know is good. Stupidity rules the world. My stupidity, perhaps? Brutality and hate are the motivators of all, the backlash of 500 years of European/"American" expansion. I do not see why I have to choose to be a militant on any side of this disgusting explosion of bigoted and blustering sickness. Sounds like a description of me.
I have righteousness. I am angelic. I am peaceful. Some of you, particularly Marilyn Cambareri would dispute each assertion, bitterly and caustically until there was nothing here but a naked simulacrum of a cruel, distorted fetal entity. The destruction didn't start with me.
Ho ho my money is my money. My failures are not this kind of patience toward strength/string. I am bomomo. I am a baby's nut, drunken and african in my mind being wordy.
Soon it will be illegal or at least socially unacceptable for one such as me to use the word "African" with respect to myself. There will be no tolerance, no room for maneuver, only the psychological and physiological disappearance of a useless, murderous carapace of the people's of Europe's desire for laughter, peace, answers. The problem is that the later developers, the conquered, do not believe in "answers." They wish only for a communication that proceeds from a peaceful papa. manana. I think this peacefulness is possible. Unfortunately, the rending of the beauties of European "civilization" will die/coerced and disintegrating/ for the centuries, for the millennia. This is already an ancient world facing its death. Transformation will be utter dissolution; life will go on without any understanding beyond the immediate. I know my mind is a way to act peacefully. I wish that what I know of "law" and cruelty were encouraging: they are not. Example: a poem in tribute to Amiri Baraka saying that the writer needed to save the white man by kicking the law out of his teeth. This is the kind of thing I don't think I have to welcome.
What am I saying? I have no love for my passions. They disappear with the influence of the anti-psychotic. Nothing is spewing as gently rocketing stones and spears and missiles of words that have no relation to each other but the asshole desperately and angrily shaking off the cruelties with which "she" is bound.
I have no body. I have no drinking. I have no thought. I have no being. I have no alliances. I have no peace. Body is my mind. Thought is my sex/reason/tree. The fundamentals, the instability is glued together in this medical substitute for human self-reconstruction. The humanity will die. All that will be left will be the glue.
Why baba? Why baba? i baba. I have no baba. What is a mama?
I hate my mama; I love her as my mama. She is beautiful and gentle. Yet I hate her misunderstandings, her lack of ability to grasp what is outside the ken of the Mother. What is my life? What possibilities are still alive?
es on.
No one will say.
I must make my own life without a place to go, with no defenses, with no understanding of this cruel and foolish time/place.
Bobo. Momo. I fucked up because I wanted home. Now home surrounds me with comfort and consoling peace,, but it does not give me a way to life/baloney/mama/ drugs are dumb.
Poesy is meant to say a baba. is meant to be God to its own sickness.
That is a hateful sickness without money or love.
I hate my mama for mamama. She loves me. I need that. I return it sometimes. Everytime it seems it will be enough, then daily the scaaffolding of mutuality falls apart, like a badly built, unsecured edifice of metal/plastic/stone heaped in a desert dust storm. Blah, blah. Misspoken and banal.
Worship is a way to live if you have words that mean peace. Ai yeah. Another hope is nothingness.
I have to listen for strong people. Chaos is deadly. So is life. So is cruelty. Life is not death. Life goes on. Life is vitality, presence, hope, the eternity of love in every moment. Medicine muffles the presence of Love. If someone really wants me to heal they'll put me in a place of meditation and peace, not leave my life in my hands where i see only wanger baba a mama, a child, a drunkenness, a dislocation, a painful bringing of loss and ashes.
Sylvia's ashes were home. That is how deep and stupidly "disintegral" my self-awarness has become/descended.
I loved my Mom for making my mama a woman.
I am my mama. I realized that during the torturous turmoil of my coming-into-being in the days of my pre-Bellevue dispensation, dying at the hands of nasty pagan poems. These are all that I have to hope for: that what I thought was my destruction will bring hope and peace.
What do you think? I know you won't tell me.
Or mama o dada, o mamama. I feel worse in this death-dealing analysis of self, this denial of the profusion that is everywhere.
I have joy. I just want a whore that makes me hassle anchors with pagan anonymity.
Chelsea is always three steps ahead of me. I caannot turn to her. No one else will ever have a clue where my consciousness has brought me. No one will ever believe my strength. Loving yourself brings peace. That is the secret i have suppressed.
Who are your lies and pagan hopes? What are you? What is a God? What belongs to me and what is strong? Is there peace? The very words by which I portray my mind seem treacherous. I must suspect them as the police-orc despises the hobbit. What bothers me is this pagan naturism. I want to cling to its peacefulness, but it fades: magic is the target of medication
If I stop medicating myself, I will be dead in six months.
I have no -- another andrea -- mama is my mama -- a mama is wise -- not --WHAT IS WOMAN? I HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH MYSELF! DESTRUCTIVE GLUE OF RATIONAL DISCOURSE! WHERE IS THE GODDESS WITHIN? I LOVE HER. I HAVE NO PEACE WITHOUT HER. I LIVE FOR THIS. I A M A WOMAN BECAUSE I NEED DREAMS; I NEED A (SHOUTING TO GET OUT SOME WORD, SOME INDIRECT INDICATION OF MY LIFE) LANGUAGE THAT MAKES STRENGTH ANOTHER BA RAGAN DENIES IT. I AM NOT MY MAMA. I WISH MY MAMA WAS MY MAMA . I AM LOSING TOUCH. WHAT IS THIS PLACE? I HAVE MY MAMA! WHY BELIEVE? ALIVE! I AM ALIVE!
I no one -- ba ma -- a whore sucks ass, my friend is my Mom.
I hate -- baba-- my Mom as my Mom.
Why be ba? Why be a baba?
I ask you what is strong?
My mama is Mom
She won't feel better and I am desiring to give my Mom
A womanhood of my Mom.
I feel worse. I ask you what is my Mom?
I didn't -- torturous tense burying -- ma --
I hated dreams; I hated a world.
The world is in me. I have anxious and overwrought
Cruelties blocking my awareness of patience.
They feel like tendons or bands of elastic or outward-pressuring (somatic representations of thoughts)
in which are buried the angst and anger I have no idea is my mind and my mind belongs where I have Andrea (hope belongs to my Mom --WHY? Do I project and feel these constant alterations in my consciousness keeping me from awareness of a stability, a strength that I know is there underneath the turmoil that bothers me so.
I don't want to be expositorially descriptive. I want to shriek, so according to the rules of Art of the 1950s, 1940s, 1930s, 1920s, 1960s, 1970s, back to the French "symbolists," to Artaud, Jarry, Rimbaud, to failure in my life, to coldness that had part of in my changes (to become "Juliaa") I will shriek.
I hate this crap.
I spill my words as they come to me even in their cross-interfering low, mean, cruel conflict in the fight to become aware of gentleness and hope:
Fuck nuts;; Fuck God. Fuck pain. I sought my mama. I sought a friend. i have no peace. I have no peace. What is this pain? Why did I ask for body? Why am I sore (angry, a Chelsea-speak) and why am I a fool? I feel momentarily stupid and angry and cruel. Don't describe, spew words on the screen, each word resting like a fragile, unbalanced, stone on the others, rocketing outward and upward into an unfortunate and uncomprehending, unreceptive oblivion. Blah Blah.
No one bothers me. I hate my Mom. She won't believe me. She won't ask me what is my life for? I blame her as I always did for making me (the handles are poor.) I confuse, concern, intimidate and drain her of energy. Horrible. Absolutely unjustifiable. I cannot be here. I am on double the anti-psychotic. In no more than two years I will probably face the "institution" with nothing to sustaain me except my memories and maybe a book or two while I shriek in frustration and anger, mourning my useless, hated and hateful life!. I was never so offensive and scary. I was a gentle person. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?
I hate bothering my mother. My mother is alive. My mother believes in me. I disappoint her (and myself) a hundred times a day. Every day, the occasional feeling of kindness and affection slips into a absolute Andreaic reservoir or morass of chaos and cruelty bubbling within this useless consciousness I established as a means to love my hopes (peace, love and a papapapa/ baba/ mama family baba is mama. ) I have to know I am not my mama. I hate boundaries and they are what I need to remember are there, even for CHELSEA GOODWIN AND RUSTY moore. Otherwise, they would welcome my volcanic instability, my crude and directionless stupidity into their lives. I insult my self and denigraqte myself so no one will get there before me. No one cares. Most people would rather watch me sink into the morass of my attempt to be absolutely without aggression or hurtfulness of any kind; cheering on the disintegration or at least knowing that whatever need brings me to this is mine alone -- none of their fucking business or concern.
I didn't know bothering my mom would be cruel. I don't know stupidity is the only thing I know is good. Stupidity rules the world. My stupidity, perhaps? Brutality and hate are the motivators of all, the backlash of 500 years of European/"American" expansion. I do not see why I have to choose to be a militant on any side of this disgusting explosion of bigoted and blustering sickness. Sounds like a description of me.
I have righteousness. I am angelic. I am peaceful. Some of you, particularly Marilyn Cambareri would dispute each assertion, bitterly and caustically until there was nothing here but a naked simulacrum of a cruel, distorted fetal entity. The destruction didn't start with me.
Ho ho my money is my money. My failures are not this kind of patience toward strength/string. I am bomomo. I am a baby's nut, drunken and african in my mind being wordy.
Soon it will be illegal or at least socially unacceptable for one such as me to use the word "African" with respect to myself. There will be no tolerance, no room for maneuver, only the psychological and physiological disappearance of a useless, murderous carapace of the people's of Europe's desire for laughter, peace, answers. The problem is that the later developers, the conquered, do not believe in "answers." They wish only for a communication that proceeds from a peaceful papa. manana. I think this peacefulness is possible. Unfortunately, the rending of the beauties of European "civilization" will die/coerced and disintegrating/ for the centuries, for the millennia. This is already an ancient world facing its death. Transformation will be utter dissolution; life will go on without any understanding beyond the immediate. I know my mind is a way to act peacefully. I wish that what I know of "law" and cruelty were encouraging: they are not. Example: a poem in tribute to Amiri Baraka saying that the writer needed to save the white man by kicking the law out of his teeth. This is the kind of thing I don't think I have to welcome.
What am I saying? I have no love for my passions. They disappear with the influence of the anti-psychotic. Nothing is spewing as gently rocketing stones and spears and missiles of words that have no relation to each other but the asshole desperately and angrily shaking off the cruelties with which "she" is bound.
I have no body. I have no drinking. I have no thought. I have no being. I have no alliances. I have no peace. Body is my mind. Thought is my sex/reason/tree. The fundamentals, the instability is glued together in this medical substitute for human self-reconstruction. The humanity will die. All that will be left will be the glue.
Why baba? Why baba? i baba. I have no baba. What is a mama?
I hate my mama; I love her as my mama. She is beautiful and gentle. Yet I hate her misunderstandings, her lack of ability to grasp what is outside the ken of the Mother. What is my life? What possibilities are still alive?
es on.
No one will say.
I must make my own life without a place to go, with no defenses, with no understanding of this cruel and foolish time/place.
Bobo. Momo. I fucked up because I wanted home. Now home surrounds me with comfort and consoling peace,, but it does not give me a way to life/baloney/mama/ drugs are dumb.
Poesy is meant to say a baba. is meant to be God to its own sickness.
That is a hateful sickness without money or love.
I hate my mama for mamama. She loves me. I need that. I return it sometimes. Everytime it seems it will be enough, then daily the scaaffolding of mutuality falls apart, like a badly built, unsecured edifice of metal/plastic/stone heaped in a desert dust storm. Blah, blah. Misspoken and banal.
Worship is a way to live if you have words that mean peace. Ai yeah. Another hope is nothingness.
I have to listen for strong people. Chaos is deadly. So is life. So is cruelty. Life is not death. Life goes on. Life is vitality, presence, hope, the eternity of love in every moment. Medicine muffles the presence of Love. If someone really wants me to heal they'll put me in a place of meditation and peace, not leave my life in my hands where i see only wanger baba a mama, a child, a drunkenness, a dislocation, a painful bringing of loss and ashes.
Sylvia's ashes were home. That is how deep and stupidly "disintegral" my self-awarness has become/descended.
I loved my Mom for making my mama a woman.
I am my mama. I realized that during the torturous turmoil of my coming-into-being in the days of my pre-Bellevue dispensation, dying at the hands of nasty pagan poems. These are all that I have to hope for: that what I thought was my destruction will bring hope and peace.
What do you think? I know you won't tell me.
Or mama o dada, o mamama. I feel worse in this death-dealing analysis of self, this denial of the profusion that is everywhere.
I have joy. I just want a whore that makes me hassle anchors with pagan anonymity.
Chelsea is always three steps ahead of me. I caannot turn to her. No one else will ever have a clue where my consciousness has brought me. No one will ever believe my strength. Loving yourself brings peace. That is the secret i have suppressed.
Who are your lies and pagan hopes? What are you? What is a God? What belongs to me and what is strong? Is there peace? The very words by which I portray my mind seem treacherous. I must suspect them as the police-orc despises the hobbit. What bothers me is this pagan naturism. I want to cling to its peacefulness, but it fades: magic is the target of medication
If I stop medicating myself, I will be dead in six months.
I have no -- another andrea -- mama is my mama -- a mama is wise -- not --WHAT IS WOMAN? I HAVE LOST CONTACT WITH MYSELF! DESTRUCTIVE GLUE OF RATIONAL DISCOURSE! WHERE IS THE GODDESS WITHIN? I LOVE HER. I HAVE NO PEACE WITHOUT HER. I LIVE FOR THIS. I A M A WOMAN BECAUSE I NEED DREAMS; I NEED A (SHOUTING TO GET OUT SOME WORD, SOME INDIRECT INDICATION OF MY LIFE) LANGUAGE THAT MAKES STRENGTH ANOTHER BA RAGAN DENIES IT. I AM NOT MY MAMA. I WISH MY MAMA WAS MY MAMA . I AM LOSING TOUCH. WHAT IS THIS PLACE? I HAVE MY MAMA! WHY BELIEVE? ALIVE! I AM ALIVE!
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
oh well
land marks me I have no another. What is another? Boaba.
Holes are life; I feel worse.
Bee bee.
What is you? I feel worse.
Don't ask me don't tell me. I am a whore.
Work baaba.
Omo Babama.
Racketeering a mama. I fekakjflka
Ilaughted.
Racism is a pig
Nono..
What i know i know is you.
Racism is a racist drunk of men and sex with alllah. Peace is my mom.
Woman deals with another a moment. What is you?
I feel worse.. Baba. I am a moment of fool and moment of a baba.
Woman belong; I am a whore. Fool moo moo.
Girl, you are a whore but not a woman. You are my mama.
I am you.
Woo woo.
Chelsea Goodwin bothers me because she needs me. I have her friends. She is hopeful.
Andrea Sears belongs and she is her friend. Woman balallala
Why is you baba?
Laughting baba.
I have mama a woman naca. Ramama
I lovev my moma baba.
Orgasm is moo moo a fool. Steel my mama. I have pain and cruelty fool is a whore baba.
Fool sucks dirt and I am a macla
Rape is a whore people suck ass. I ha
Land is rape. I hate pain. Work is cold.
Don't even think about making this my life.
Holes are life; I feel worse.
Bee bee.
What is you? I feel worse.
Don't ask me don't tell me. I am a whore.
Work baaba.
Omo Babama.
Racketeering a mama. I fekakjflka
Ilaughted.
Racism is a pig
Nono..
What i know i know is you.
Racism is a racist drunk of men and sex with alllah. Peace is my mom.
Woman deals with another a moment. What is you?
I feel worse.. Baba. I am a moment of fool and moment of a baba.
Woman belong; I am a whore. Fool moo moo.
Girl, you are a whore but not a woman. You are my mama.
I am you.
Woo woo.
Chelsea Goodwin bothers me because she needs me. I have her friends. She is hopeful.
Andrea Sears belongs and she is her friend. Woman balallala
Why is you baba?
Laughting baba.
I have mama a woman naca. Ramama
I lovev my moma baba.
Orgasm is moo moo a fool. Steel my mama. I have pain and cruelty fool is a whore baba.
Fool sucks dirt and I am a macla
Rape is a whore people suck ass. I ha
Land is rape. I hate pain. Work is cold.
Don't even think about making this my life.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Commentary on the Rampart(s)
You're supposed to write like you have peace in you,
Not like God is hate.
To be a word,
I ask you,
Will you think about me?
I wonder,
Are you the one?
A word belongs
A dream apart
A life a life
Selects the dream.
The green, a world
A fact of peace,
A lake belongs
And that's
My pagan mind.
I work to be along
The way.
I feel the God
is away,
To stray.
I have a body
Where my life
Is free.
I have a friend
To share the
Key.
Momentarily
I seek a vision
To create
Worlds of patience
Where I love
My mind.
I feel a sort of
Pain in there.
It belongs to life:
I am sincere.
I ask of you
What is the God?
I am the person
My life is shod.
A woman's thought
Of life as sought
A weirdness party
A failing
Serene.
Way I see
Shares me
With a dot,
A tree.
**********************************
Where I go all out bat-shit crazy with bad-ass phonemes
Strung together like words that matter.
A star myself
A bar is a cave
I feel a wind
I borrowed is dead.
The law of work
Is to drop as lead.
Was it okay to ask for less?
I feel the Goddess
Is Peaceful,
Still I stress.
**************************************
A male, a need, a fear, a bleed,
I scan the sky, I see a seed.
The laughter beyond my eyes
Is Weed.
Maniacal and thought-filled
I have a life
That feels as if
I act by knife.
I hate the strain
On this worn brain.
I parties my life
Into the Ground.
I hated the facts
That marked me sound.
The reasons mere
The word is dear.
******************************************
Please let me write just this once
I know to say,
I feel a ray
The passion's a flaw
In all the straw.
A man with no
History of care
Belongs where
Life is free
To dare.
*************************************8
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Ma ma Na ca. Amama. Mama.
Wha ha.
Mama
I mama.
No one baba.
I love you. A mama.
I love you. A baba.
What baba?
I mama a dada.
No one baba.
I love you mama.
No one baba.
I love you a mama.
I baba.
No one baba.
I no one a nana.
I hate rama.
No one a baba.
I root a mama.
No one a nana.
Whole is a whole of mama.
I have mama.
Wook a mama. Rok a ma.
Alley baba. Money baba.
I rooted a baba.
Bruce a mama.
No one is a nana.
I feel mama. Baba a haha.
I like a nana.
No one is a haha.
No one is a haha.
Woop.
Work is baba.
Mama
I mama.
No one baba.
I love you. A mama.
I love you. A baba.
What baba?
I mama a dada.
No one baba.
I love you mama.
No one baba.
I love you a mama.
I baba.
No one baba.
I no one a nana.
I hate rama.
No one a baba.
I root a mama.
No one a nana.
Whole is a whole of mama.
I have mama.
Wook a mama. Rok a ma.
Alley baba. Money baba.
I rooted a baba.
Bruce a mama.
No one is a nana.
I feel mama. Baba a haha.
I like a nana.
No one is a haha.
No one is a haha.
Woop.
Work is baba.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Discoursing Upon the Vaginal Clitoris, or, the Clitoral Vagina.
What bothers you?
That's what I thought.
I bothered anger's a rude apartment.
Baba.
Nono.
Woma.
Aree.
If I aid the anger's ampire. I bought it.
What is good?
W a l las
Da ra f]aba
I w
racism
Ba ba.
I baba.
Bebebebe..
Baba
No ba.
Aif
Land ba.
o ba.
Ro ba.
famous baba baba. I be be.....
La la mama
I am ba.
Rope Baba.
Law and ba baba.
I la (lied) ba.
No one baba
I l
la
R
Ba
Ba
Mama
I don't mama. I mama. Baba.
No one baba. Baba
Work is baba. I baba; baba.
Na. A baba? A ho ho.
Rara lala
Nananana
Na na
I mama
Rope.
And now baba.
Ok.
That's what I thought.
I bothered anger's a rude apartment.
Baba.
Nono.
Woma.
Aree.
If I aid the anger's ampire. I bought it.
What is good?
W a l las
Da ra f]aba
I w
racism
Ba ba.
I baba.
Bebebebe..
Baba
No ba.
Aif
Land ba.
o ba.
Ro ba.
famous baba baba. I be be.....
La la mama
I am ba.
Rope Baba.
Law and ba baba.
I la (lied) ba.
No one baba
I l
la
R
Ba
Ba
Mama
I don't mama. I mama. Baba.
No one baba. Baba
Work is baba. I baba; baba.
Na. A baba? A ho ho.
Rara lala
Nananana
Na na
I mama
Rope.
And now baba.
Ok.
Insensitivity Galore: Legends of a Paranoiac
Work was my life my mama bothered my mama's apartment:
What bothers a mama bothering my mama a mama?
I was nice and I am a woman a Goddess sucking (a)(r) God
Busted narcotic like a reason of flaming argonauts
Sartre nose baba. I like a drunk of fangs is not
I got it.
Hoffa bothers gasoline; he belongs mothering
A people working bothering
Mama moose mamama a lala.
Rap being is a world of love bothers sanka
Was that I God?
Destiny (My grandmother means my momma being my momma)
Acting alive bothers a man
Raising argots for their atrocitous a father making being
Happens life is good.
Whore safety boos mooment of hope
Ega bother ashes. (!!)
Work my mama my mama work is be a worker.
Ect
Wise
Mactivate
Hooker apartment was hassles saying anger bothers angstious
A Marxist anger pothering a kind another one balloon
Work beyond druth be ba negativity sink into beyond was that
Personal? People wise nice dream wors rain.
Wors Raound.
I raised shame bothering fifi bibi
I work No one is life us boba
Rank babay Last and nostic.
What bothers a mama bothering my mama a mama?
I was nice and I am a woman a Goddess sucking (a)(r) God
Busted narcotic like a reason of flaming argonauts
Sartre nose baba. I like a drunk of fangs is not
I got it.
Hoffa bothers gasoline; he belongs mothering
A people working bothering
Mama moose mamama a lala.
Rap being is a world of love bothers sanka
Was that I God?
Destiny (My grandmother means my momma being my momma)
Acting alive bothers a man
Raising argots for their atrocitous a father making being
Happens life is good.
Whore safety boos mooment of hope
Ega bother ashes. (!!)
Work my mama my mama work is be a worker.
Ect
Wise
Mactivate
Hooker apartment was hassles saying anger bothers angstious
A Marxist anger pothering a kind another one balloon
Work beyond druth be ba negativity sink into beyond was that
Personal? People wise nice dream wors rain.
Wors Raound.
I raised shame bothering fifi bibi
I work No one is life us boba
Rank babay Last and nostic.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Thursday, August 28, 2014
One for to please
Where Nights Abound with Sprites
Political Science cliché
Enjoins an oyster pate
To free a nocturnal dreamer
From skies spilling with creamer.
No parsley, no sage, no rice
Escape for money or mice.
I will my life be needed
That the backyard be weeded.
The family’s paid-up lease
Resists this drama’s surcease.
When my mother decides to inquire,
Pronounce my sentence as, “rhymer."
Political Science cliché
Enjoins an oyster pate
To free a nocturnal dreamer
From skies spilling with creamer.
No parsley, no sage, no rice
Escape for money or mice.
I will my life be needed
That the backyard be weeded.
The family’s paid-up lease
Resists this drama’s surcease.
When my mother decides to inquire,
Pronounce my sentence as, “rhymer."
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Proelium
("Battle"? In Latin)
Or shark mama mama what is this drama
No one mama ala gada famamama Would
Be listening.
There's another drama a gada fascism
Bothering mama papa.
I family drama saga is a pagan rama.
I no one fala a rama badada.
I important a gada damana.
Woe to the angry balala.
I feel worse manana.
Rodada panana: Balaga
Eel banana.
Woe is the Goddess of mana;
Where is the trouble patata?
I found the Goddess a mana
Your name derives where
The dream is racist
Trapapa.
Woman belongs to a haha.
I have borrowed a nana
A treating a murderer
Stupapa.
You thought I was
Sore I was nata.
The dream of freedom I
Have malala.
World of body is a whore
Amanana. Wamama Bababa
Your people safe in trababa:
I have dying in me lagaga:
I feel playing being change
Dean dean dean
Goo goo Ga.
Word of mine to my
Lala:
I hate the sickness of
A mama:
I trouble her with my
Lala
I ask to be fafafa.
Perhaps I'll be anana
I 'm going to go rarara.
Clouds up in the anger;
I seek to feel the flala
Gott is a bird named papa.
He bought his thoughts
Through his caca.
Suing people for arara,
Work deletes angaga.
I need to go rabada:
I know what bodies
Sasasa.
Woop is the need to
Gaga;
I have borrowed my money
a papa.
Word to all: a fafa
Lord of seth is a haha.
Or shark mama mama what is this drama
No one mama ala gada famamama Would
Be listening.
There's another drama a gada fascism
Bothering mama papa.
I family drama saga is a pagan rama.
I no one fala a rama badada.
I important a gada damana.
Woe to the angry balala.
I feel worse manana.
Rodada panana: Balaga
Eel banana.
Woe is the Goddess of mana;
Where is the trouble patata?
I found the Goddess a mana
Your name derives where
The dream is racist
Trapapa.
Woman belongs to a haha.
I have borrowed a nana
A treating a murderer
Stupapa.
You thought I was
Sore I was nata.
The dream of freedom I
Have malala.
World of body is a whore
Amanana. Wamama Bababa
Your people safe in trababa:
I have dying in me lagaga:
I feel playing being change
Dean dean dean
Goo goo Ga.
Word of mine to my
Lala:
I hate the sickness of
A mama:
I trouble her with my
Lala
I ask to be fafafa.
Perhaps I'll be anana
I 'm going to go rarara.
Clouds up in the anger;
I seek to feel the flala
Gott is a bird named papa.
He bought his thoughts
Through his caca.
Suing people for arara,
Work deletes angaga.
I need to go rabada:
I know what bodies
Sasasa.
Woop is the need to
Gaga;
I have borrowed my money
a papa.
Word to all: a fafa
Lord of seth is a haha.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Shame and the Fool
When my mother
A bothered
Momma
I bothered a mama
Why why and I love it.
What nasty and drunk person
Drew me in to a whore?
I have no idea.
I have problems
Because I am
Boo, a loser.
Narcotic
And nothingness.
Ashes mashes sashes clashes rashes washes
Pashas hashes gnashes maybe Oh well.
Not alive working bother; working art top marcotic
Bother bother is band
Nothing here.
A bothered
Momma
I bothered a mama
Why why and I love it.
What nasty and drunk person
Drew me in to a whore?
I have no idea.
I have problems
Because I am
Boo, a loser.
Narcotic
And nothingness.
Ashes mashes sashes clashes rashes washes
Pashas hashes gnashes maybe Oh well.
Not alive working bother; working art top marcotic
Bother bother is band
Nothing here.
No Go
Bu
Wu
Ru
Actors
La
Omen
Ruman
Laughter
As Money word drinks sexy drunk money
I follow bart drunkenly drinking his nuts.
Borrow me. I feel worse worse and I know it.
What is here? I had nothing and it is a whore
Nothing is here.
I have nothing
Why am I here?
Where bother my mother?
I feel worse than I did
When I drunk a sh
Racism cold drunken
Budy
O Par
A ha
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Where racism
Nothing is here.
Where pain
I hate racism dies.
No one bothers a racist.
No one has my mind.
Why bother to live for my mind?
I hated bothering bart with nothing.
Where is bart?
Bart bothers another one.
I feel like this a fool working bothering.
I feel bone and it bothers me.
I feel whore bothering bothering it is nothing bothering.
Where bother I don't know.
What is this?
A moment dies.
I feel worse.
My mom bothered me (here) (and I liked it).
I told her I write better becaause I say everything that's on my mind.
She understood.
She noticed me typing (this) fast.
Work nothing.
Deal it.
I feel like this. Bother it. I have no one here
Except darkness a moment of freedom.
Oh well. I have my life.
Please don't hurt me. I wandered and i hold my life where rama
and I love my mama with life and peace.
Hole is darkness. I suck my life here.
No one here. No one bothers art.
(Carney)
Darkness I know bothers a lot of has beens.
I am bothering my moment.
I don't need it.
I like a was loud.
Was loud.
It is nothing a lot of my money is a lot of my father.
I seek his patience.
I seek his moose.
No one bothers at all.
I have no reading and it is work.
Wu
Ru
Actors
La
Omen
Ruman
Laughter
As Money word drinks sexy drunk money
I follow bart drunkenly drinking his nuts.
Borrow me. I feel worse worse and I know it.
What is here? I had nothing and it is a whore
Nothing is here.
I have nothing
Why am I here?
Where bother my mother?
I feel worse than I did
When I drunk a sh
Racism cold drunken
Budy
O Par
A ha
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Where racism
Nothing is here.
Where pain
I hate racism dies.
No one bothers a racist.
No one has my mind.
Why bother to live for my mind?
I hated bothering bart with nothing.
Where is bart?
Bart bothers another one.
I feel like this a fool working bothering.
I feel bone and it bothers me.
I feel whore bothering bothering it is nothing bothering.
Where bother I don't know.
What is this?
A moment dies.
I feel worse.
My mom bothered me (here) (and I liked it).
I told her I write better becaause I say everything that's on my mind.
She understood.
She noticed me typing (this) fast.
Work nothing.
Deal it.
I feel like this. Bother it. I have no one here
Except darkness a moment of freedom.
Oh well. I have my life.
Please don't hurt me. I wandered and i hold my life where rama
and I love my mama with life and peace.
Hole is darkness. I suck my life here.
No one here. No one bothers art.
(Carney)
Darkness I know bothers a lot of has beens.
I am bothering my moment.
I don't need it.
I like a was loud.
Was loud.
It is nothing a lot of my money is a lot of my father.
I seek his patience.
I seek his moose.
No one bothers at all.
I have no reading and it is work.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Go
Lying I lie lefting losing or pee dream
Murder pandering argument
Ashes were here. I worried a lone.
I am laf]\
No.
I am
No.
I hate a ga
Ragan.
Death is my mother's
Move Narcotically a hater. Shits.
I wish Dad died without a hole.
This hate is nothing but a worker's share of value.
Why be a woman for nothing?
Words stupid nerds. I don't need stink.
I don't need a fool as my partner.
I hated loud darkness startles my woman.
I know be a woman. Stupid.
I feel worse. I want my racism to fatheom. Ar
Randy said it: She needs starking. Stunking.
You are wise. You hate pop.
Fool. A faminiity
Dominated heck as leftist dream.
Closed my family's aping my mother.
I fold my life: It worked mys lame
Brath. Soft is my payment . Share
Word Dream Love.
Woman be a woman. Stupid.
Is lthat change?
I am no worse where I am.
I am not that alive safely here.
I don't have a man.
I have no body my mind is troubled.
Where is the thought here?
I made my money alive for my life teaching it is whaqt i nknow.
Mafia
Boss.
Woman
Or
Shaft
Is
A nothing
Costing
Paper.
So stupid, I am mama a woman needs her thoughts.
Stupid. You died nothing is God.
I need to be loving for myself.
She kneeds he a live.
My dad is not here.
Close your family!
She is mine.
I hate my wisedom.
I am what I am.
Stupid.
I failed work. I failed money. i hate pain.
My mother must be a good person.
Self-afraid, self-care, self-money:
Arf.
Family didn't have I had.
I lost genitals fucked it up.
Now hope. My mom doesn't care.
I hated the way dad was.
I am him.
He died.
I will fail.
Murder pandering argument
Ashes were here. I worried a lone.
I am laf]\
No.
I am
No.
I hate a ga
Ragan.
Death is my mother's
Move Narcotically a hater. Shits.
I wish Dad died without a hole.
This hate is nothing but a worker's share of value.
Why be a woman for nothing?
Words stupid nerds. I don't need stink.
I don't need a fool as my partner.
I hated loud darkness startles my woman.
I know be a woman. Stupid.
I feel worse. I want my racism to fatheom. Ar
Randy said it: She needs starking. Stunking.
You are wise. You hate pop.
Fool. A faminiity
Dominated heck as leftist dream.
Closed my family's aping my mother.
I fold my life: It worked mys lame
Brath. Soft is my payment . Share
Word Dream Love.
Woman be a woman. Stupid.
Is lthat change?
I am no worse where I am.
I am not that alive safely here.
I don't have a man.
I have no body my mind is troubled.
Where is the thought here?
I made my money alive for my life teaching it is whaqt i nknow.
Mafia
Boss.
Woman
Or
Shaft
Is
A nothing
Costing
Paper.
So stupid, I am mama a woman needs her thoughts.
Stupid. You died nothing is God.
I need to be loving for myself.
She kneeds he a live.
My dad is not here.
Close your family!
She is mine.
I hate my wisedom.
I am what I am.
Stupid.
I failed work. I failed money. i hate pain.
My mother must be a good person.
Self-afraid, self-care, self-money:
Arf.
Family didn't have I had.
I lost genitals fucked it up.
Now hope. My mom doesn't care.
I hated the way dad was.
I am him.
He died.
I will fail.
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