without the trenches... there's still that commeradary... what nuance of the bombs of ****...
i lost the ability to feel an intimacy when... a cat had to find a cushioning sensation of fudge-packing a corner: while at sat on a sofa... all that furr-borrow against a clarity of a crease that's towing a knee and all this naked flesh-out...
by the *****-load of traffic... wriggling away at the base posit... i'm here for the "chomąto": a collar for a horse: i'm your paddy sort of well respected plumber / hobbit folk... i'm here for "nothing": but i'm most certainly here for a toothache...
there is no war... there are no trenches... there is no mud of Flanders... but i'm here... scribbling toward a ferocity that: begs giving countering explanations... the arabs are no longer mere camel jockeys... their kept monotheism and their polygamy... they are rich oil sheikhs... and i'm wondering as to how or why... i'm already a trusted extension of *****... whenever i trusted the bone marrow to speak... when i was a **** toy...
now to degrade myself with a single mumsie... h. h. holmes forever solves the plot... "something" is expected to thicken... i cook a **** good curry sauce... the vikings were savages yet they managed to grease up a tier above animal... the stature of poets... because? the priests were not supposed to read...
i'd sooner want to see the horrors of the trenches... than this... peace-abiding... faking it... that i haven't allowed myself to be loved... how strange it is... to then "stress"... animals can stand me... i don't expect loving to be in their repertoire of cue... and children find me... bewildering enough... to allow an exchange of eyes... which is more than a conversation...
i've been told to trim my Engel beard... i gather: it is... rather bushy teasing afro concentration of: where oh where: my chin and slobber?
it's really sad it really is... i'm here faking homosexual erotica "literature": the best counter to casting a ******* vote... while i need to hear some balloon popping in a metaphor of: when a tree falls... in a forest... and there's no one to hear it fall...
truant! truant! the tree doesn't "fall"... there's only... a need for rain and the forest to be "riddled" by oaks rather than pines... so that the rain can fall on leaves that have to later earn their status of cymbals...
but this is not world war I... i see no trenches... yet... for ****-toy that i was... it's nice to be appreciated as merely as such... who dare, climb the frictions of: father status... and i could have been that base alcoholic foundation stone for a son that managed to... transcend his origins... i would have: i could have been the motivational tool! a drunk with a private library that would have contestants shy... in disbelief...
look at me now... a walking cul de sac prison of life... not "yet" aborted... but clearly not donning a niqab... either...
to hell with it! let is appeal to the river of heraclitus and god's (any god you please) will as you orate arguments most thoroughly...
i started to itch when i listened to both sides of the "argument"... i listened to the woman... i listened to the man... i'd much prefer an ownership of a dog when i would not have to invest in a leash... or a muzzle... i'd like selfish-act of presence that abide by the foundation: alias glue... i don't want selfless acts of pretty-please... i want the most base... selfish acts of overtly-simplified... life...
i supposed myself to be... tangled up with wilhelm's khakis... no... wait.. adolph prone-types... the germans / the russians are no longer the celebrated enemy for a cultural phallus hard-on? i am... supposedly... facing an enemy... that... props and gangash river plough...
this is all i have... a sickness of christianity... the ***** has yet to reach the crucible... the beast is already towing a thoroughly graced feast of furrow... in 7 ******* languages... i arrived towing the newly baptised nations of africa... how they became so willingly converted... i guess to counter: the east african slave trade... to erase all demands for muhammad: middle-class... come the story out of Kenya: notably Mombasa...
my limits of hand... shaking agreement with shadow then cusping a ******* reconstruction of "boney-m" *****... i am... a walking... ghost of an abortion... i need to satisfy myself with: the fact that... i am not... a protagonist choice to thereby: climb...
i exhausted myself on proving that geocentrism was not... and that heliocentric is... but sun up or down down... gynocentrism is still the *******... paramount of narratives!
as well walk around *****-tied to the narrative of god the father... god the necrophylia-esque sworn... it's enough to want a rottweiler that could be petted as a cat... no leash... no muzzle...
it's not that investing in emotions with anyone beside my mother... i was a bilingual strategist before a schizoid dumb-down... like i had to be made RE-tarded before gaining the chance for the e populus choicest of applauses!
i did imagine traffic in the trenches... fighting a goliath of an SS-man in the woods... not this... not this cheap-***** of a: as man... when there aren't any problems: we will... invet problems! and if they're not problems! they'll be known as... bureaucratic solutions! because our hunger / fetish for bad *** never allowed us to disavow... mediocre work of... perfecting an acting principle of... loitering!
*** does two "things"... it sells... but it also... clogs... and by clogging in creates: cogs... so the machinery of ******* expands! *** selling is the easiest bit... that it clogs up thereby creating cogs is... a "subconscious" desire of this... multifarious... diadem...
**** similis marries... cerebrum fungus...
there! that's your ******* **** sapiens story! there! ping pong latin-esque quadratic! **** similis qua fungus cerebrum... similar to man... quasi ape... as being... a fungus theft... of a brain... on the "reverse"... "god" only talks to the brain-damaged or the brain dead... or we evolved... by being invested in / infested by... a ******* talking... mushroom! sputnik neon-lights! arbitrary-counter-bites! it's a duality of arguments... that a brain-damaged exhibit (a) "conversing" with god is less credible than a brain-placebo-sucker exhibit (b) "conversing" with: emptiness suckle... or: the sensible approach of... the veil! the mushroom enzyme! right now! no one is more sensible... i count the affairs of the brain-damanged in conversations with god assured new progress as those... "freely available"... toying a pawn of chess... with amazonian ******-pharmacology... n'est ce-pas?!