Oh, weary soul of post-modern controversy - I appeal to your essential being: although we have been dealt a hand of political gymnastics, I urge you to maintain rigidity within your flexible openness.
let us set the temperature to approximately 360 degrees and we will await tempered steel as she bursts forth from the darkest tunnels of conservative prohibition.
My liberal constructivism stands aghast the parades of laborious vaults.

Reflections are a mere temporal depiction of time, as it was.
There is longing, acknowledgement and gratitude when awareness strikes a chord deep within anatomical structures of musical ambivalence.
So, what is loss? Does it equate to finding freedom? Whatever your philosophy – just remember that New Hampshire makes a blatant statement to live free or die.

The Spirit of Winter carefully tiptoes her way along the continuum of forgotten Gaelic intensities, whilst mischievous laughter resounds throughout the geographical conveniences of complacency.
How gorgeous is the anatomy of madness, as she perches on gorgon ledges of sophisticated depravity.
I do not even hail from the land of the Gauls.
Yet, ghastly and seductive are those flittering silhouettes of fortitude and perceived harlotry, as they penetrate damp walls of ancient entertainments with multiple partners.
Harken to my lament and do not banish my soul into eternal blackness, as we conjure the sword and kiss with fivefold and unconventional intensities beyond the circles of the forest.
You are now given permission to ring the bell sevenfold, Oh master, where scientific inscriptions are splayed with the blatancy of wanton chastity.
I was born by the river that is never the same whenever it is stepped into with more than one dribbling expectation.

As we speak, I am in the vortex of a Purple Haze.
Seattle has produced more than a reputable brand of coffee and the great hall of fame resounds throughout eternity.
We are acknowledged by Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain - don’t you think?
Come as you are, because freedom is just another word for nothing less to lose.
So, my sensual mistress of musical engineering - shake those deep and hypnotic dreams from your hair and watch where you point that gun! Okay?

Insecurities are usually masked by specific external characteristics.
Looking back, I can visualise dead wasps as they floated in water-filled jam jars on the foundations of the Campsie Fells.
Please, will you save all your kisses for me amidst this mass observation of our voyeuristic society?
I give thanks for the blood that pumps through your veins. Can I explore your labyrinth within these flittering and electric shadows of death?

The pungent aroma of sandalwood is a poor diversion for the administration of intravenous ******.
One may be spellbound by whispering seductions which can lull a person into a golden-brown complacency.
Overdose captivates the attention, and the reality of fantasy pervades the human heart in the same manner as an arrow from a crossbow which strikes the soul in Sherwood Forest.
It’s a texture like sun. But many are the afflicted under her psychoactive propagations. Now you truly know what it is all about. Or do you?

Are you able to feel the depth of the forest, where wisdom screeches throughout the branches of the olde English cemetery.
The harpsichord is majestic in its historical and royal sexuality.
Render your ****** taxes unto the so-called order of the sophisticated wilderness.
I am perplexed at what we have been conditioned to believe.
But the Church of England is now obsolete.
Thank modernity for relativism if you so desire.
But understand this: The foliage of humanity will never be swept under the metaphorical carpet of autumnal bewilderment.

There is a beat, where the rhythm of questionable origins pulsates throughout the uncertainty of our lost generation.
Insects which crawl into the darkness flamboyantly portray the message of Liverpudlian honesty,
Whilst desolate railway arches echo the sound of destination in the face of bewilderment and a heightened awareness of loss.
Oh, to be found in the midst of the brickwork tunnels of death!
I remember how the sticky leads of the ECG scan and my declarations of abstinence merely resulted in intravenous gambles with the reaper of the ancient abyss.
So, I urge you to burn incense, my friend of forgotten rock festivals, whilst I seek to connect with your vein.
You are a lifetime away, yet you are ever present.
Thank you, for sitting with me in my hour of death and for your Isle of Wight being.
The price of MD 20/20 will be etched on my heart forever.

Vulnerability is characterised by a beautifully ambivalent experience for the majority of anthropological subjects, if the risk is indeed to be embraced.
But, haven’t we already surmounted the impossible ranges of mountainous biopsychosocial corridors in this geographical war against oblivion?
If we have, then let us raise our brazen shields whilst the cheerleading and aristocratic seductress chants her ceremonial and political letters of pronouncement.
Cosmological resistance of physical objects to any change in their sense of motion, speed or direction, is characterised by hilarity.
Yet, what does it matter?
It is likened to bursting forth from a position of submerged freedom of speech, where we must then tread precariously across uncertain ponds.
Stepping out from the metaphorical boat, we can acquaint ourselves with the beauty of The Vocal Artiste and conduct our transaction.

The howling winds of Siberia caress the stratosphere.
Follow those ancient dreams where superstition and perception merge into an infantile vortex of beauty.
Blue whales may cry from the depths of oceanic platitudes, whilst the resignations of Summer Solstice are portrayed in her alluring and flamboyant sexuality.
I have to say, that I am concerned about her position with regards to further pursuits in the age of annihilations.
Blackcurrant jam is truly connected to the sound of southern California, where it would be wise to walk closer to the fulcrum.

I am already saddened at the severed tie of unanticipated disconnectedness.
Bonds of the soul are beyond the figment of our frail imaginations.
Black Sunday may give us what we call a “special deal”, but we have to pay greater homage to the powers that be – namely our ridiculous “White House”.
In the era of advancement and confusion of colour, I give thanks for your genuine being.
The forgotten will truly be remembered, and we will raise a final toast to the anaesthetic of contemporary propaganda.
Do you honestly think that you will be safe? Nobility does not reign in absolute finesse and the Fertility of the land is not without its benefits.
In my obscurity, I urge you to plough the fallowed ground in the spirit of the English countryside.

Aren’t you amazed at the propagations of politics? But let us not become enraptured by the plausibility of oratory wonders. That which is palatable, yet unexpected, is revealed in spectacular semantics. The winds may blow the surface of grass from side-to-side, as we perch on the threshold of a new dawn, while rhetorical laughter echoes her hysterical shrieks in familial connectedness. We are truly on the brink of advancement – don’t you think? Scottish mist hangs her powerful head over the glens of Rannoch moor, in a manner which is ghostly atmospheric. The clearances of old will never be forgotten in the valley of Glencoe.

From a criminological perspective, the gradations of evil may lead to cannibalistic tendencies.
However, I am being stalked by a dark entity which lurks beneath the pulsating vibrations of subtle and occult ley lines.
Permit me to be so bold: How fashionable are our social mores?
And in which direction do you travel?
When we put it all together, the isolated parts generate a fullness of sound which surpasses the acoustic corridor of ancient souls.
I understand that the parameters of Saturn resound with impersonal barks from that old black dog of menacing stealth.
Do you know why?
Because academia lacks the authenticity of genuine experience.
Now, my friend, let us continue to walk down the street of morning where blackbirds whistle in the branches of ancestral bonding.

Can you feel the caress of the Northern wind, as it screeches across the baron plateau of the anthropological crack and strokes the contours of your oily façade?
The slippery blackness of this gale interferes with the propagation of ambivalent feminine intertwines.
Herbal remedies have cast their fragrance into the arms of Ashtoreth.
Therefore, you must now investigate the callous and empathic chords of my legitimacy, and I promise to blend my classical resonance with your deplorable soul.
If this is a public inquiry, then I must set sail from the dock and traverse unchartered horizons, with my tank filled with the required fuel.
Let us placate the earth, together as we unleash extravagant ceremonies of ****** ferocity.
We have swam across the laughter of the Sea of Clouds in this lunar expression of divorce.

The storms of life may never cease to blow in their unanticipated direction. However, you are able to withstand in the same manner as a Jacobean fortress which is not dissuaded by the extremity of Highland elements.
The color of your hair is a sure sign of wisdom, despite those self-doubts which are not uncommon to the sincerity of our humanity.
So, my fellow sojourner, in this perplexing yet beautiful pilgrimage: rest assured that the dark side of awareness can be applauded by our empathic insights, where those who are haunted by ghostly shadows can bask in the radiance of legitimate validations.
Therefore, I urge you to carry that blazing torch into seemingly unfathomable depths of human experience, and to illuminate those treacherous paths of uncertainty with the confidence of ontology.
There is no price upon that which you can impart. Therefore, humbly acknowledge the taste of apple pie, and display your bountiful banquet before those who are emaciated.
The universe requires your personal enrichment.

I have discovered myself to be lost in shimmering puddles of an ancient dream where the recollections
of an acoustic guitar delve into the depths of an autumn sky.
They are unequivocally related to damp wellington boots, butterscotch and bacon.
At last, I have balanced upon the glorious edge of unfathomable childhood rituals where esoteric plantations are shrouded by a hedge of Britannic history.
So, as you seek to slide down the steep and icy pathway into the park, make sure that you return by 9 o’clock in the evening because the black nun wanders around those ghostly woodlands where religious buildings remain to be sunk into historical graves.

Take caution, my friend, about joining any club that would extend the courtesy of membership, because
etchings upon our archaeological memory may reap undesirable pronouncements.
If your wings have not yet been clipped, then I implore you to turn the key that abides in the Iron Gate.
Liberty is truly to be found in banishment, and captivity embraces those who are presumed to be socially elite.
The Northern Command has our number written upon the electronic village of global deception, even though undertones are without doubt, seductive.
So, blow your whistles on this day of grey sky.
Your voice has now been heard.

Raise your glass to the emptiness of social prestige, where the long and desolate corridor of ridicule is shrouded by the fantasies of those who covet recognition.
However, we must realise that the hall of fame is utterly incontinent.
Feel the acoustic waves as they collide with vibrations of intra-galactic virginity.
Stolen innocence modestly presents herself with Gaelic solidarity.
So, mother your yearlings while you can.
Surfing the urge of protest is not dissimilar to common teenage captivations.
Give credence to the natives of the land.

The psychologising of the masses is a contemporary pestilence where those who are metaphorically deceased by political wiles, form impetuous lines in the quest for an array of implanted micro-organisms.
Although I have never conversed with the ghosts of Tombstone, I have blown sand away from many obscured surfaces.
As bryophytes are damp botanical mats which cleave to the ancient and symbolic markers of death; so the writing is similarly attached and strewn across our grand societal walls.
That which was once concealed is now blatantly revealed.
Therefore, I appeal to the social construction of what is presumed to be reality: Can we please now unite and carve humanitarian lines into the stony face of our confabulated habitat?

Take a glimpse back down the cobbled Roman road, and you will bear witness to a catalogue of decadent milestones which await unrestrained consummation.
But I am now a weary pilgrim who wanders through misty forests, where the sound of cracking twigs around the badgers sett, shatters the serenity of twilight ecosystems.
Toadstools are not a part of my current diet. Therefore, I bid you farewell. When you stand by the sparking fire at the ancient gatehouse, you will resolve the carnival of hypnogogic and hypnopompic startlements.
Therefore, before you begin your journey of forgotten mystical awareness, I must ask one thing of you: are you able to recollect your whereabouts in the next lifetime?

How limited we are in our Japanese 440 Ltd Custom where diners resound with the heart of the blues across desert storms.
Snowflakes continue to fall in silence cross mountainous regions of Canadian volcanic resentment.
Massachusetts lies upon the boundaries of New Hampshire, whilst blue angels deliver the swift administration of justice.
I love the pulse of Glasgow, because it is my homeland.
Please lick my cylinder, so that we can shake hands across forbidden boundaries of violence.
I do not belong to anyone.

So we find ourselves, once again, succumbing to the very anticipations of our ever-entrenched customs. What lies in store for us, is not yet revealed. But trust me - my deep, spiritual and connected partner of positional variation: just go with it. The musky scent of agarbathi is sensually captivating amidst the fiery secretions of India. How powerful is your experience?

Have you ever tasted the spicy barrels of a firearm?
Although self-control may hammer her heart in rhythm with contemporary recollections of a distant Northern community; I have resigned myself to proclamations which can never be repeated in the streets of Miami.
I know that tropical storms can be relentless, especially where tuxedos are triggered by intense and acoustic fields of romantic death.
So, tell me, what are your co-ordinates? It is important that you pump your lever in a forward direction, because the troposphere hinges upon all of this anthropological turbulence.

Leprechauns abide in pastures of Gaelic folklore where those who are susceptible to their mischief will be spellbound by galloping horses across medieval dunes in the name of allegiance to the King.
We need to cross the causeway at the correct time, in anticipation of tidal waves which approach a finite limit.
Have you ever consumed whiskey in a culture of superstition?
An environment of dark precipitation is atmospheric, especially when the ghosts of ancient battles exonerate our ignorance amidst our blatant lack of understanding.
Let us bow our knee in humble acknowledgement of those phantoms of olde, who teach us about seeing.

So, help me out. Where do we go from here? Do you have any suggestions? Because I am open to cooking a dish that is beyond gourmet. There is something truly pertinent about time-keeping. Diligence is required in the metaphorical kitchens of existence. Recipes are diverse, and the appeal varies amongst those who partake of such culinary delicacies. So, my cyber-babe of astral travel - what have you got cookin'?

The hyacinth is glorious as she displays her gorgeous petals across dangerous stratas.
Crows may circle the church steeples in their scavenging plight for obscure answers, but the janitor is the one who knows what has been pasted upon the walls of scholastic defiance.
Cobwebs form across forbidden sandstone doorways in Horselethill, where sophisticated frailty is negated by the innocence of childhood mockery.
There is a particular smell from the cellar.
I know that chestnuts fall from trees in their designated seasons, where the threshold of the dawn is characterised by ****** of spiritualism and astral projection.
Just look at the patterns upon the side of the plate, and savour the olfactory experience of Nana.
Thank you for your basic expressions which were most rich in this age of debauchery.

What is fun, in its perceived definition? I can only imagine bountiful beauty as I contemplate such psychological explorations. It takes me to places where there are no limits, and where that which is deemed to fit inside the barb-wired fences of acceptability do not prevail. Let us retire to this intimate beach of oneness in a state of being which transcends time.

The Stratocaster was dripping with emotional intensity, whilst my head vibrated against the window of the bus during a deep and innocent slumber.
We fret so much my friend. If I want to adjust the outcome, then I am simply, yet sensitively, required to turn the relevant key.
I fully understand the beat of the red-light area where tragedy and pleasure have disloyal intercourses, and the texture of its currencies are likened to the intricate task of baking cakes in front of a shiny chrome bumper.
Skillful finesse is required if the recesses of our soul are to be tantalised. So, let us celebrate the night.

Do I have permission to board your train of unequivocal resilience, as we waltz into the aromatic contours of an Arabian illusion?
Letters have been written in the annals of predictive history as we slide down those astrological poles of heightened depravity.
Can you hear the chants of the spiritual forest, where silence screams her prohibited philharmonic octaves throughout the strata’s of seventh heaven?
The spirits of northern tundra have beckoned my weary soul to withstand the tides of obscurity.
What is your name? And, are you a victim of this desert storm of acoustic serenity?
I urge you to remain on the path, because if you ever get lost, then I will not have the privilege of meeting your acquaintance.
That is the sequel of linguistic wealth and intimate resentment.

Show me the forbidden petals of your dark side, where enlightenment pulsates with her superior intellectual reliance upon rationalism.
What are the parameters of absolutism and relativism in this age, where I have discoursed with austere figures of the debased brotherhood?
Can you wrap your fingers around the girth of societal modernity, and stroke the length of paradoxical sophistication where philosophical death displays her unfathomable depths?
I have found resolution to this mathematical perplexity amidst our blatantly secret desert storm, where the cosmological clock ceases to denote her tick beyond the circumference of our interior sociology.
Looking back to the future – what do you think of your first love?
As we gather in the sacred circle around ancient and dreamy wishes, the spectres of dark forests are worthy of homage on this calendar season of historical significance.
Limp, is the phallus of political rectitude.
There is something beautifully menacing about the sound of bass drums, especially whenever there is a cultural context.
Do you know why? Because, they are connected to the melody and harmony, where the fullness of ontology is climactic in its lofty debasement.

There is a resonating rhythm which cultivates a warm embrace from electric boldness.
Congruence is to be found within the fire of an athame, where familiarity can direct energy from each quarter of sacred space.
As nature displays her petals with utmost sincerity, there is certain direction to northerly earth, eastern air, southern fire and westerly water.
Invocations are personal. I now feel the need to consummate our equilibrium. Please do not be offended.

The soothing and nostalgic rhythm of yesterday beats like a hypnotic pulse which cannot be denied. It really happened - for good or for bad. Can you enter into the olfactory memories where innocence was shrouded by an authority, where social sanctions were conflicted?
Loaves of bread in a supermarket are not the subject of mere chance. Systems and procedures are required in order to display the final product. Do you understand? I am not so convinced that you do. So, fill up your tank with gas you ******’ idiot and keep on keepin’ on…just like the rest of mediocrity. Well done! You are almost there. But where is “there”?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, my acquaintance of sombre excellence.
So, please do not be deluded by expectations from particular designations and social strata.
As teardrops drip from ancient clouds above multigenerational transmissions, I can feel those Celtic waves of classical death which resound throughout our hollow shell of existence.
It is just like malignant optimism, don’t you think? Coitus is always permissible, but it is not always beneficial.
Therefore, board this aquatic bubble and follow the current downstream at your ludicrous peril, whilst intrapsychic processes drive the train off socio-cultural junctions.

The simple leaf displays her complexity with utmost transparency, whilst beautiful chords convey a rhythm which is beyond the parameters of articulation.
A droplet of dew can generate a deep sense of perspective in the South Eastern gardens of Saxony, where uncertainty droops her head with daily lamentations and the quest for connectedness.
Is it possible for us to be at one now?
Let us give credence to ancient runes, as we are wanting in our understanding of pagan orchards.
Every picture tells a story under a forest canopy, where stagecoaches compete against highwaymen of contemporary political propaganda.
Numerology is depicted in your iris.
Grow your plants, and we will engage at an opportune time, with wise insights.
Semantics are inadequate to define familial bonds.

The wheel of the year spirals in her established and revolutionary celebrations; and the spirits of the dance move freely amongst the bonfire of lunar festivals, whilst innocence parades herself in the streets of contemporary entitlement.
Will you please proclaim a feast for the ghosts of the land who reside in our momentary presence?
A portal to the fairy-world may be obstructed by our diluted perceptions of the significant occasion, even though alcohol and explicit *** are expected rituals by our ancient and sovereign forefathers.
Oh ancient Goddess of pagan folklore, I am truly thankful for your inviting and feminine secretions. But I cannot glide with ease in my quest to find a suitable compromise between the turnip and the pumpkin.
Treat me according to your seductive and encapsulating will. But I implore you: Please do not trick me, because I trust the power of your group intercourses. Let us spread the seed of superstition and burn black candles in the midst of this urban graveyard of symbolic and haunted attraction. I crave the treat of your femininity, oh Goddess of the West.

There are astrological signs which depict the temperature of climactic socialisation.
Are you familiar with the experience of envy?
The early settlers were able to till the land with rhythm, whilst the establishment raised superstitious calamities which were compatible with the presumed evil of harlotry.
Let us rise at this undetermined time of anticipation where maternal bonds are held in question.
Rabbits have always roamed fields in the Herefordshire countryside, whilst post-war community finds affiliation in both prohibition and licentiousness.
I love your scent, as it reminds me of ancient castles.
So, let us burrow into a warren of denial and produce offspring which dissociates from contemporary expectations.
As I appreciate the ages of wisdom, I have questions about our orientation, as it lingers on this eternal horizon of predictable obscurity.

This ceremonial façade is likened to an ancient folklore which has been dipped in forbidden secretions, even though my arts are sincerely darkened to unfathomable depths of surprised and ambidextrous naiveté.
I have constructed the choreography of this metaphysical dance, which lingers on the brink of sociological pronunciations, and where the liberty of gargoyles spew their fluid projections from lofty heights across the four directions of our moralistic city walls, where magnetised needles ***** my soul with the earth-shattering clarification of true north.
I love to sit in the dark and to be enlightened, as the eerie silence bellows her validity across trans-national sanctions, where the fallacy of liberation is juxtaposed with a socio-political and fetishistic confinement.
I believe that classical infidelity is like a beautiful Gothic cathedral where silent rage has an ebb and flow which is not easily ascertained amongst our sub-cultural and contemporary cohorts, where dynamic equilibrium truly encapsulates the co-existence of opposites, which are said to attract.
So, as we gather in the menacing serenity of the dark forests, where geography marks her ancient alignments from sunrise to sunset; can we now pray and give homage to the spirits of history, in this underground finesse of paradoxical equilibrium?
I love democracy, as she gyrates her sensual community wantonness on this conveyer belt, where the vital functions of our organism slink into sleepy cessations of universal structures where causality releases her excitatory expressions of organic physiology.

There is fulfilment within the emptiness of a generational façade, where flat keys depict a winter scene, upon which sleep is characterised by haunting screams of enragement.
Stringed instruments have the power to convey a deep sense of loss, and I have not yet gone anywhere.
Forgive me for asking: Are you a victim of secrecy, where illicit fornications abound beyond the parameters of Ashtoreth?
I accept the resolution of this enigma, whilst standing on the inside of the circle.
It truly is an artistic prowess of elegant hatred.

Serpents writhe across sand dunes where Glaswegian slaughter pronounces her vivid descriptions which are not dissociated from sensuality.
There is a certain rhythm to Marrakech vibrancy, and it comes at the price of percussion awareness.
It is cold on this night of sombre reflection, where the North Line Express cascades across sectarian boundaries.
Please offer me a solid definition of socialism, because my loyalty is laid bare before the perimeters of hatred.
Have you ever driven along Bisland Drive?
My alcoholic escapades have firmly embedded in the annals of street history.
Do you offer your consent?

The enchantment of a chase through the damp forests of Celtic mysticism is a treacherous yet beautiful feature of uncertain anticipation.
Just like the bustle of the contemporary metropolis, with her predictable and hypnotic flow of trans-national capitalism, we are caught within the web of paradoxical liberty.
Thank you for igniting my torch, as I travel across spiritual plateaus where the elements reveal the spirits of the dance.
My torch has brought comfort to those stallions who lead me beyond Hungarian kingdoms where Vlad Dracul continues to reign.
Hastening into the Societas Draconistarum, the wheels of my carriage have lodged themselves into the stoney and tragic tracks of seductive ******.
Please do not forget me.

Electric fallout races its way through the circuitry of my veins like a sinister Edenic calamity,
whilst those damp stone walls of bourgeois estates remind me of seductive servant girls.
Black Death is creeping through the avenues of our hilarity, and reveals that our plight is like Dutch cheese – full of holes.
I have changed the resistor and liaised with the stalker of the night over matters which are worthy to remain untold.
I recognise your scent.

The quest for both burial and resurrection are significant, as their flickering shadows of the self-depreciatory abyss chant their silent and hauntingly audible presence under the canopy of the ancient forest.
Let us celebrate the night together, as we are traumatically enveloped within an exposed and dialectical pronunciation during this classical and acoustic daylight romance.
Although I truly hate your love, I also reject your evident indifference.
This is the essence of feeling like a fake within the genuineness of our actual and perceived realities.
It is heaven-sent, like a feathered breed of unresolved investigations within our socio-political climate of assumed advancement, where the intensity of the beat gyrates her percussionist hips across ******* expressions of the cosmological sound barrier.
Concurrently, the tangible rhythm of nature’s pulse considerately consummates her forcefully placid interactions within the context of gender specific diversity.
It is all in the name of discriminatory wholeness, my friend.
Our ambivalent connectedness to that which is catastrophically uncertain reminds me of drawing curtains across this conglomerate dawn of darkness and uninhibited concealment.
Just look at our ornithological formation, where leadership spreads her wings with censored zoological resignations and simplistic wisdom.
You have truly lifted my soul within the complexity of this circuitry, and I wholeheartedly acknowledge that we are a myriad of expressions which cannot be adequately articulated within the thermals of our cosmological stratosphere.
Yet, there is a certain finesse to delinquency, and I have bridged the metaphorical gap across the chasm of divided entities, where we can embrace the cool and gentle breeze right at the fulcrum of unforgiving landscapes and shamanic pastures.
Like an artistic depiction of woodland serenity, we are engaged in this wonderful neutrality where it is all about the dance – otherwise known as the energy of modern choreography.
Epistemology can be questionable, where assumptions are sickeningly grounded within the soil of egocentric perceptions of supremacy.
Trust me, my seasoned partner of those astral plains of Nirvana: my lips are sealed in this putrid reconciliation of proclaimed opposites, which are said to mutually attract.

As we run with this extravagant hunt, donned in fine apparel, our forefathers are said to be effectively communicated through the aristocratic echelons of our contemporary excuse of societal connectedness.
However, my meridians ache with this eternally echoing façade, where those insignificant mongers of presumed energy exert their influence and pronounce fabrications of various and mystical cravings.
Therefore, it is important to understand those infantile proclamations, which are inert in their inarticulate and disengaging philosophies.
The sheer magnetism of our awkward interactions is not dissimilar to a child who has been caught in the midst of a forbidden action.
It is all about tidal hemispheres, don’t you think?

Look before you leap, because there is a chasm of fashionable awareness which is subject to the discriminations of the wise.
The cactus is a survivor in the desert of Arizona. But I will follow you if you dare to escape. Tadpoles will truly fertilise the obscurity of fallopian wells. Rise up and walk. Come on…break away from the chain-gang.

How enigmatic are your darkest desires, as they pulsate in the radiance of a resilient carbon-copy?
Our society is egomaniacal in its justification of sinister motives, where the majority simply absorb the current pulse and blend into a confused state of delicious tragedy.
Loyalty can be likened to a misplaced trust, where solitaire transcends the cosmological Gatekeeper. Therefore, let us make haste! No time to wait! We’re off to the Sabbat, so don’t be late.
It is almost time to eat cakes and to drink ale, whilst we play ceremonial games during this synthesis of co-existing opposites. Can we meet on the astral plane?
As the gates between the worlds are open at this time of the year, we call upon our ancestors to pass through and join us.

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?

I have connected with Hells Angels who embrace undiluted violence in the quest to find release; and I have to say that I, too, believe in the swift administration of justice. Further education is often necessary. If it is withheld, then presumptions will continue with misplaced grandiosity. So, let us not delay as we seek to Triumph over poor accountancies. The debt needs to be paid in full, my friend of forked suspension.

I can taste the flow of your brazen energy, as it meanders like an electrical impulse which spans recollected dimensions of distal awareness.
Although we are neither flat-lined nor spiking in our electromagnetic throbbing, that mystical union of physiological members displays the blatancy of our connected conquistadors.
It is important to embrace the promise on the banks of hydrological cycles without fusion of both commodities.
Like an interference pattern which is undiscernible in its direction, we are in a stable rhythm.

The gates of aristocratic chaos swing wide open amidst our political order of denied chaos.
Can you feel the depths of this political vortex where time clenches her muscles in order to enunciate the conflict?
Those who lay claim to portrayed originality are steeped in the hypocritical depths of duplicity where classical music reverberates across cosmic explanations of unspoken revelation.
Unspeakable are the criminalities of those who don mere veils of propaganda, as they are neither superior nor dissimilar to maximum security psychopathy.
Listen, my friend, to the frequency of our radio identification.
The New World Order is the unseen pulse of the progressive world, where seemingly primitive customs are dismissed in the name of mass deception.
Let us take chances of revolutionary discovery and stand in unity; otherwise we shall fall in this calamity of obscene consumerism.

It all starts in the beginning, where the innocence of infancy is wrapped in swaddling-cloth and guarded from the prevalent realities which are, in hindsight, considered to be non-existent. Give a standing ovation for childhood deception, which promotes secrecy in the name of what is called “child protection”. Those obvious characteristics of what is known to be adulthood, have an expression of moral permissiveness which is grounded in a fallacy. But the best is yet to come, as it is more blatant than expected. That sheltered level of ontology soon becomes an unadulterated exposure to expectations that were previously unanticipated. Life truly is full of surprises, isn’t it? So listen up, and harken to the threefold beat of the womb:
May you have the hindsight to know where you have been.
May you have the insight to know where you are.
May you have the foresight to know where you are going.