that bankroll of notes changing train pistons into traffic cones and brief loves into marriages with the motherly continues, but ended up, just being, a roll of toilet paper that could buy you **** for ink or ink for a bestseller that ended up a door stump for a housed breeze. but she loved it, she took the story of pristine eden and her the satan like a camcorder with selfies readied into recycling a pretty face that everyone wanted to fudge into snorkel in a sea of gag white; so i took to the monk ape for inspiration for levitation and i rooted into a child being the: bullied anorexic lexicon, the all rounded a* tenner for a teenager housebound into being schooled for a grey of officiated scrubbing of papers into business. i loved it, i had my midlife crisis without a harley and i faked myself as a dodo fearing man’s fear of death more than the unexpected extinction of my fellow species, which i took to be fearless. so once i experienced caesar’s love of spontaneity and death, the last two things i feared were homelessness and a prolonged state of dying utilising morphine from april till june, that’s why i never changed surgery, never wanted to check the cholesterol or blood pressure acting like a virus i asked to attack my heart with marginalised debriefings - if i prayed for the herz blitzkrieg right i also got a heartbeat prior.