Sometimes, I simply think of colours, you know.
The world is so complex, the human brain and the ocean unexplored, wars and marriages are battling with its side effects and a lot of good goes ignored, so sometimes, instead of Newton, I think of colours.
Like black. What if black is just the ink squeezed from a blind man's dreams?
And yellow, the Sun's abominable hot ****?
What if Snow White was just a Snow"man", a 5 year old created
but forgot to add the nose to?
Was it Olaf disguised as Charming who broke the sleeping curse with "true love's kiss"?
You can hit the bandwagon and say "Haha! Then, white is an angel's ****!"
And I could believe you!
I'm a believer!
I'm also a wild guesser! I'm the harlot of semantics, or whatever that is.
I have never met a naive gold digger, except of course, a gullible beggar.
I hate vulnerability, but then I hate strength too,
because I revel in crying and feeling my face wet and pretty
secretly waiting for a stranger's **** to give me sympathy.
Let me tell you something today.
You can give me food, clothing, warmth and a shelter to sleep under, but if you can't give me peace, comfort and acceptance, my world inside my mind and soul is a thunder waiting to erupt once I lose you and never bother to come back.
I would care less for love in fact.
I guess I'll go searching for a Kentucky's to ravish on a chicken leg with my legs up and heave a sigh of having found solace in no bra!
I see a rosary dangling down a fat woman's pious chest and I think of Jesus Christ.
70% of the world's population celebrate the man who died on the cross and topped it off with resurrection
And then again, I think of valiant soldiers who die on the borders trying to protect their nation
Who are grieved and honoured for a day, no, not celebrated no! They are forgotten.
This ******* contrived sense of sacrifice and nationalism is causing to humanity, its suffering and damnation.
Eve offered and Adam ate! Stupid snake! Because, when I didn't know any better I was too scared to *******!
All these esoteric questions and theories and debates and elocutions and apologetics and guesses, what's the ******* point?
The sanctimonious have the God of gaps, the Spaghetti monster for the iconoclastics and then we have the ******* with a  purpose to save the planet from overuse of plastics!
"There's a lot wrong with this world today and we MUST change IT!", asserts a 14 year old onstage in an air conditioned school,
where hundreds have gathered in an international thinktank for "imitating truce".
What is maturity? Tenacity? Or Acuity?
Do you understand subjectivity?
So, just because I'm 20 now, it's hilarious to still watch me drinking milk instead of "adult tea"?
I would rather listen to stories of people who've travelled the planet and lived to tell about it all, than load Stories on Instagram of people who barely make it across the hall.
And I wish I could say "Social media can **** my *****."
Because in this planet of intelligent creatures, one gender accuses, the other waits and muses, so the former forms a movement, hoping for some improvement, but really all this is a sham. All of this? It's just entertainment.
It's not about free will, it's about freedom.
It's not about fear and dogma, it's about reason.
It's about effortless loving with no condition. NO condition.
My mother says all the time "Live and let live", and I believe this is the only greatest gift we can give, to people around us and unto us, also to forget and forgive.
Why seek for mankind's origin and destiny? Why not find the  purpose we need to serve right now?
What can you do now?
And this will never have a proper ending, because I like it that way.
The world will never change, I snigger knowing because there was just one thing the Priest said right, "And we all like sheep have gone astray."

Pleasantly i was presently an obese mote laughing in the chattering
orifice of this emerald ciTy amongst the hollow discharged oblong
fingers vomited of the silky concrete mounds dangerously apathetic
the fat grunt of youth grand and evilly blanketing the hard arteries speaking
slowly feet. about the whim of the hard towers skirting angelic ***** lilt
and milk there ******* of ****** mucous to drag masculine colours to their
heed. how drunk they were of lacy cotton fringes and damp skin collecting
dew drops hard lovely thighs flatulently billowing from their savage femurs

the cool common sky is generally heavy with gray makeup and tears softly
epic wails of wet teeth. they bite and nibble the brim of my umbrella. and moaning
******* capricious men proffer and spit elocutions electricly open hands
palming digital cracking whispering clouds of text. rapid eyelids turgid was grinning specifically at I "how about a light" "sorry I don't smoke"

with certain jesting apprehension
i entertain her moist ***** darting elocutions
she's splaying candidly 'pon ever
witless grunting foul vocular aberration
outside the roaring box of wet tinder
's a window slapping manacle
of steely girth. the sky's tongue
folds straightening air into the fat
oblong of the sea particularly
as probably i'm listening listlessly
to grand nothings plopping gently
from loose teeth grinding small
headed sally i'd could hardly say i                               care

that they.
over where?
over there
don't you see?
those vibrating metaphors issuing auditory elocutions

she laughs whoreishly with that man
to catch his i

good thing
his i is preoccupied
with her *******
else he might hear her
fake

;clamor

it terms of orchestration, wiring latin to english using the latins' alphabet, and advocating a different movement of the knight to the queen in placement, biased on the chequers given the |, it might be that in latin the grammatician would say postponed words were designated the categorisation of adjective if trafficked purely on the right... but in english interpretation of latin, with the surviving alphabet... and the missing burnt out eyes of balthazar seeing written hebrew like king chalres iii seeing cyryllic... what if... what if in terms of | alice decided, through the mirror, that adjectives became nouns and nouns took on the noumenon form of being omni-grammatical in terms of allowances of usage to trans / to transverse?

this is how sophistry happens on the “sly:”
the crusades... eh eh eh... em em em...i i i i...
such eloquence for the proper elocutions
before the world actually revolved...
it’s called the onomatopoeia of thought...
it should sound like it’s scripted...
but it’s not scripted...
instead it’s a scarred thought that might have
sounded an octave above the mezzo;
well... at least both of us sung the song...
whatever medium was discriminated at less
whether that be kareoke
(the japanese word for mime) or poetry;
anyway... i learned to stutter and think of
toes like twinkle twikle litter star... how i wonder
what you could articulate with einstein cracking the nursery rhyme
for an equation that dazzled everyone
in the symphonium of ceaceless ahs and sighs
before red october
revolved into the futures of the november
revolution of '89 /
grey november they called it...
they gave us treaties for the autobahn in colour...
and it turned out to mingle the echo black and the voiced
white... in a medium that only desired *quies genesis.