. like some pop canadian psychiatrist might, lecturing males about *******, unlike some lars von trier... let's just say that i can understand of jerking off having been mutilated, oh, sorry, circumcised, having an improved impetus for the opposite partner... sure... love the lecture... a male's missing ******* is compensated by a couch with extra pillows of a woman's ******... i get it... one problem... one thing lecturing males on the dreaded degeneracy of *******... could this famous canadian psychiatrist, cool off, and lecture females about their exhibitionism? no? not real? ****... i took the alternative route jerking off... took to fine art nudes, and selfies women take of their cleavage... i might be a sore jerking off loser... but she's the ******* exhibitionist.
ever walked down a desolate road,
with only cars whizzing past.
and no pedestrians?
ever walk and stop,
under a street lamp,
exasperated by the stealth of rainfall,
slow...
airy, almost floating,
like a myopic cloud covering
your eyes?
ever walk into an alley beside
a baptist church...
ease up, take a ****...
and then drench your hair in
rain (water)?
ever glide over the sheen of
concrete covered in
wetness that soil would
otherwise, hide, and ingest?
the temperature is still there,
can't get sparkles,
guess i have to settle
for squid liquid glee of
the cement...
give it three months...
the paparazzi will glitter
the mundane cement gore...
and then walking down
a road, downhill...
/
\
/
\
/
\
i might have been drunk...
but i was going / left to right,
nd \ right to left,
spectating the rainfall
under each street-lamp...
**** me... what a beauty show...
like watching someone
spin candy floss!
i squinted my eye...
un-squinted it...
mezmo...
better than an l.s.d. trip...
auburn come autumn air...
a slight fragrance of decay...
french puff pastry...
slow rain,
like a postcard enclosed in
an envelope...
like carbonated water...
a gesticulation of imitating
fizzy, in terms of air...
pure... magic...
so i did what no other drunk does,
walked down the street,
a ******* zig zag parade:
/
\
/
\
/
\
or Z... x6...
the linear aspect implying:
i paused, and admired...
just a little rain,
and all the streets were empty...
what space...
by the way...
is Budweiser truly the king of beers?
my local supermarket has started
selling
asahi...
well, technically liquid amber is
evening sun, not morning sun...
but seriously...
Budweiser?
the, king, of beers?
if they stopped milking the Chinese,
injecting rice fermentation...
then... maybe...
Budweiser is the ******* beer...
yak ****...
it's akin to the story of
of: pork because of bacon...
bacon is crap...
pig head and cranium terrine...
or pork kabanossi...
but i give the h'americans
bourbon...
god i can't resist...
do all brothels "stink" of
Kentucky bourbon?
every time i open a Kentucky bourbon
i am reminded of having visited
a brothel...
and the kissing like
oral ***...
perfumes! perfumes!
perfumes!
floral patterns on the lips
that pucker up to vines and needles
leaving them shut...
**** me... even the *** beer has
a story, rather than a kingly stature
behind it...
karakuchi...
or as one must summarize:
i got to the brothel for a hard-on,
i go to the cinema for the pseudo-acting...
your chiral female to example...
limp **** and i might as well
be eating ****...
and then there's Californian Punk
of the 1990s...
which?
does British politics even exist?
to make a punk mooo-v'eh-ment?
i brought the cows,
but forgot the cow-bell
for Nazareth's hair of a dog...
as we know it...
punk died in California in the 1990s...
punk ist tod...
come to think of it...
no one does blogging when testing
alcohol...
****... and it would be censored...
if someone should do a social media
type of critique,
getting off his *** when drinking
an asahi beer,
of a whyte & mackay whiskey...
here's what it could look like...
in writing.
