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*and when they write their novels, the last thing they'll realise, is that... contradictions, are twists in the plot... philosophy books are only akin to novella by creating contradictions, as a way of suggesting playdough, scrapheap of phenomenology;     some say contradictions are desired faults in an "arithmetic" / plot, and yes, that's... "arithmetic", meaning a + b can't exactly be 1 + 2... but that's                ∞ = a-z....                  the two are incompatible correlatives... crafted to ensure babushka lingua                          sell her tomatoes...                                and all subsequent blah blahs; oh please! you'll go to thailand some time next year, you want me to feel sorry for you?               pet a rat!* and will i dicta villager simply,                                                       qualm?!                     you! ruddier! charcoal fat! you sludge-ipsen             you vermont Kaiser guised! you! finicky, thing!             avocado fat **** let us bravado a chin!   that double! half-wit quiff!    fringe alongside the combover! all things elongated towards a giraffe....                              you! squeaky Lombard of Milan! you! paraphrase! you! Merovingian! cackle squat! and summation parts teutonic; defaced, with mention of tectonic; and they did live, a happily ever after,                          which is the sad part; you! piglet charcoal with dumb & dumber! i dare not carve my name in stone...     i carve my name in lamb limbs...                    so i debase myself on the throttle when there's encouragement of the speeding aversion toward Macbeth; i look upon the toil,     as i might take slightness of asserting the earthenware,       to have milked the cow, or to have leisured an urn from a basic of dover chalk -         there you are... a kingly kin awoken... there the highlands... and there the deposited   into basin...                              for all pyrotechnics there's still the pedophobia -                 means i have an aversion becoming a father... i don't like children... do i hate to?       ~. really, do i have to? as it strands... i have to. it was Macbeth who looked down, and said: as mere pebble be,         i see less time occupying the lot of the heavens even if they conjunction Aries into      a warring tide...                             there, among the toothache and awoken chance to meet grit...      i find time worth embedding a scaling into...           a rigidity, that could never define Romeo, and as said... lost the mc.        as having lost the juliet... and subsequently gained the Beth.
0
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
a stick had two ends
*and when they write their novels, the last thing they'll realise, is that... contradictions, are twists in the plot... philosophy books are only akin to novella by creating contradictions, as a way of suggesting playdough, scrapheap of phenomenology;     some say contradictions are desired faults in an "arithmetic" / plot, and yes, that's... "arithmetic", meaning a + b can't exactly be 1 + 2... but that's                ∞ = a-z....                  the two are incompatible correlatives... crafted to ensure babushka lingua                          sell her tomatoes...                                and all subsequent blah blahs; oh please! you'll go to thailand some time next year, you want me to feel sorry for you?               pet a rat!* and will i dicta villager simply,                                                       qualm?!                     you! ruddier! charcoal fat! you sludge-ipsen             you vermont Kaiser guised! you! finicky, thing!             avocado fat **** let us bravado a chin!   that double! half-wit quiff!    fringe alongside the combover! all things elongated towards a giraffe....                              you! squeaky Lombard of Milan! you! paraphrase! you! Merovingian! cackle squat! and summation parts teutonic; defaced, with mention of tectonic; and they did live, a happily ever after,                          which is the sad part; you! piglet charcoal with dumb & dumber! i dare not carve my name in stone...     i carve my name in lamb limbs...                    so i debase myself on the throttle when there's encouragement of the speeding aversion toward Macbeth; i look upon the toil,     as i might take slightness of asserting the earthenware,       to have milked the cow, or to have leisured an urn from a basic of dover chalk -         there you are... a kingly kin awoken... there the highlands... and there the deposited   into basin...                              for all pyrotechnics there's still the pedophobia -                 means i have an aversion becoming a father... i don't like children... do i hate to?       ~. really, do i have to? as it strands... i have to. it was Macbeth who looked down, and said: as mere pebble be,         i see less time occupying the lot of the heavens even if they conjunction Aries into      a warring tide...                             there, among the toothache and awoken chance to meet grit...      i find time worth embedding a scaling into...           a rigidity, that could never define Romeo, and as said... lost the mc.        as having lost the juliet... and subsequently gained the Beth.
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removed.polaroid-scrabble
36/M
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
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