A true intellectual must learn how to read and write with thoughts of the mind. knowing the ways of our true intellectuals in our time.

Artisticology is the worship of art.

My emotions gathered in the mist to confess my undying love for thy. With spells of the sun peering through a solement cloud showing we had so much fun. To show our love affair carried on till the morning sun. My lucent heart beats with a plenum of sensations to fill the stars. In a void of pure pleasure to never relinquish my feelings I have for you my darling Janet.

These badmen had a evening of excursions hidding from the devil inside. With wild eyes of pretension from heartbroken minds knowing  love was to hard to find. Unhinged and unhinded it showed a different state of presence. He knew his actions could be accountable  as he looked upon a golden leaf with only power stopping him from being a thief. As his preternatural transparent humour saved him from crying when his dad lost his soul in the dead of the night. Reflections of the past echoed in his heart as trampled shoes dulled as woman and men heared in like cattle. While power hungry relatives circled the room in a coterinous space longing for a prosperous life. Reading there will of there destiny a solicitor looked upon disbelief knowing only money could contain there grief. As a glint from the moonlight showed silhouettes on a cold wall. While he's free in a merciful maze as they all wondered what will happen in this limitless time. With contenous holes that soiled his body in a unmarked grave. Just as perfumes and aftershaves masked a holy smell hoping his spirit goes to heaven not hell.

She had a concierge to hold her thoughts in the verge of her passionate highs. To a lady you must tell no lies because it's best to speak the truth or prepare to have arguments before you cry as they say there goodbyes. Why do we lose before we can win in a world full of sin as we lie in wait for virtues that are not made of our own. While we sow the seeds of regreat what's left without love to burden our hearts just as hate poisons our minds. In a time of commitment that never leaves our souls all alone facing the bitter edge in a world full of love we pledge.

The pageantry of bliss gathered in the remoteness of solitude with insufficient conquest that brodens the soul. As Christmas mornings engulfed the constancy of his beating heart. Just as a sporran beneath the waves divided his world from land and sea. While a thorn tree shared the night with death as a lonely bird perched on branch at the end of her tether. As the ground wiped it's stone of empty coals in the fowls stood the richness of life preying on mankind's window.

It looked like muddy grounds where small dusty roses growed wild on the gable end of a wooden barn. As a spinster spinned her wheel of wool the size of a yarn. Where intermediate surfaces laid doorment as she hid away from hideous minds. While she lowered her guard in the back of a interview room in Scotland yard. The smell of tea and wee displaced the air they breathed holding all colour, creed and race without shame and with disgrace. There the prisoner waits knowing no policeman's your mate. Elbows in windows as belts and pistons drives there jam jars. Searching for another criminal to put safely behind bars as a prison guard looks up at the stars. Knowing this is ornate world as they lie on a gauntness sofa with blistering leather that craved a different stage trying to trick the judge. That they all have a different mental age while trying not to hold a grudge as they calm there own rage. This daunting life where they wear stripes fighting against right and wrong living under a deceitful con. While blades melts into brush displacing there medieval amour with surnames and number on signs knowing extra days squashing there fines. To get to the truth you will hear so many lies.