Let us refrain from the race against time, in order to avoid surpassing ourselves prior to our birth.
It is not dissimilar to an inarticulate promise, when Corpus Callosum damage interferes with communication strategies between both hemispheres.
In this age of seemingly superior wisdom and unreasonable demand, we must address the question of when we can truly interact.
Emotional are those chords of retirement and defiance in the face of a perplexed fret board.
Can’t you feel the electromagnetic field, where aquatic immersion avoids the accusation of political sharks?
Thankfully, there is a design.

The distortion of rectitude maintains the guise of a charismatic persona, with a co-existing ulterior motive.
Searching for our lost soul is intensified by the diametrically opposed collision of ancient and modern pizzicato.
Listen to the voices as they forcefully project powerful messages into the darkened recesses of presumed enlightenment.
I have released my imprisoned being from this custodial fabric of presumed alignment, into the lofts of undetectable thermals, where soaring wings surf undefined boundaries of spatial awareness.
Cosmological democracy is the State in which our orchestral garden grows, light years beyond the doorway of the beginning.

Shall we embark upon the ancient grove, where seedlings propagate their sensual jaws of death?
We have burst forth from the liberated confines of contemporary entitlement and social communism.
Crossing through to the cosmological amusement arcade, we are presented with a melodic base and harmony which rise beyond legends of dialectical octaves within our classical symphony.
Therefore, let us use visible gestures which convey an accurate understanding of this intricate arrangement.
It is not dissimilar to the purkinje fibres of ventricular walls, because without synchronicity, the music will cease to resound across the galaxies.

There is something releasing about an expression of eclectic cynicism which is not divorced from an acoustic reality.
I have my PhD in testing times, and appreciate my role in helping to bring wisdom to the naïve.
However, we both know, that those from seemingly prestigious social echelons are also immersed in an oblivion of denial and Great Western dreams.

Las Ramblas takes me into the olfactory and gustatory folds of a multicolored bocadillo, which led me to the breathtaking and fearful tunnels of El Chorro.
I have identified those at Sants who maintained deviant motives and gazed upon the beauty of those tree-lined streets of fountainous resignation.
Nevertheless, the combination of manchego and chorizo leads me to those meandering roads of Andalucia where the Sierra Nevada can be witnessed from festivals in Pastelero and Villa Nueva in a midnight breeze.
The best sopa de acho is to be found in Antequerra.

The corridors of eternity are filled with a pungent black smoke, where seductive goats dance amidst the aroma of flickering shadows.
Regret and lost opportunity have forever lifted their elegant skirts with brazen mockery, and paraded their alluring nakedness with political and fornicatory statements.
From which Order do you harken, my brethren of unrestricted and universal boundaries?
Oh, ancient accomplice from unknown nether regions, venture into the underworld where spectres enforce their varying ranks of forgotten presence and renovate my dilapidated existence amidst this catalogue of brilliance, where simplicity and elegance collide.
It has been passed down to us by way of oral tradition.
My goblet has been raised along with the ceremonial blade in acknowledgement of sensual and procreative acts.
It’s a simple expression of gratitude to my Succubus.

Vision is an inexplicable experience, where perception blends with distant intellect and galactic rationalism.
As we sit together and lay aside our preconceptions, we both know that it will melt in the fifth year.
As we engage in this beautiful marathon and paste ontology across wasteful walls of graffiti, can we now please die?
Oh ancient soul, I am intrigued by your mysterious aura, as your flickering flame has made contact with my ectoplasmic and innermost hatred.
Nationalism is not yet lost, and everything is said to be well.
It is said to be our mistake for not yet having the realisation.
We can only prevent decay for a limited period of time.
It’s just like an inadequate reprimand, don’t you think?