*this is what a kalimotxo afternoon looks like; + the giggles surround the citation orientating itself around in vino veritas, esp. home-made.*
within the concept counter to the cartesian
model of res cogitans,
i.e. res vanus -
for some reasons stranger than otherwise
i am always fed,
i am fed one thought after another...
i can't think of god as a person,
a being of some obscure sense
of a wishy-washy wishing carol of complaints
regarding my argument worthwhile
while itemising parasites...
i just bypass the whole atheistic endeavour
and treat the **** "thing" as
an object... obviously i am objectional to it
within the atheistic solidarity,
but i am still subjected to it,
whether arguing for it's existence,
or for it's non-existence...
so much arises from not thinking,
the reflexive sense of thinking,
never wasted upon the reflective (frictive)
sense of "thinking", by that i mean:
you writing a book or sumthin'?
the moment i stop "thinking" i.e. narrating
is the moment i am fed a thought
of spontaneous premature ***********
of this sort...
all it takes is a bit of
restraint... **** me and all this "hot" topic
of restraining genitalia...
i swear to god: you sure you haven't
shoved your head up your **** far enough
to imitate the ostrich looking for china?
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
*this is what a kalimotxo afternoon looks like; + the giggles surround the citation orientating itself around in vino veritas, esp. home-made.*
within the concept counter to the cartesian
model of res cogitans,
i.e. res vanus -
for some reasons stranger than otherwise
i am always fed,
i am fed one thought after another...
i can't think of god as a person,
a being of some obscure sense
of a wishy-washy wishing carol of complaints
regarding my argument worthwhile
while itemising parasites...
i just bypass the whole atheistic endeavour
and treat the **** "thing" as
an object... obviously i am objectional to it
within the atheistic solidarity,
but i am still subjected to it,
whether arguing for it's existence,
or for it's non-existence...
so much arises from not thinking,
the reflexive sense of thinking,
never wasted upon the reflective (frictive)
sense of "thinking", by that i mean:
you writing a book or sumthin'?
the moment i stop "thinking" i.e. narrating
is the moment i am fed a thought
of spontaneous premature ***********
of this sort...
all it takes is a bit of
restraint... **** me and all this "hot" topic
of restraining genitalia...
i swear to god: you sure you haven't
shoved your head up your **** far enough
to imitate the ostrich looking for china?