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found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
0
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
liquid werther's original
found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
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removed.polaroid-scrabble
36/M
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
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