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"interchange" poems
What sort of lean-to is habitat to your humanity? Is it an apartment, bungalow, flat , or a cozy cape cod or perhaps a suburban ranch? What sort of lean-to provides those inches and flames that shield you from hypothermia and death? Is it a Georgian Mansion by the sea or cardboard boxes stacked beneath the interchange on the far side of town? (How many lack even that)? What sort of lean-to's will suffice to shelter the family of man? December, 2013
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
What Sort of Lean-to...?
let's try positive for a change, change the wiring in this brain, brain aware remain soul interchange, interchange for sun and not the rain, rain that made me always feel strange, strange that i always sought pain, pain for love, the emotions deranged, deranged? insane! confusion did reign, reign while i did fight for change, change i gained, content not feigned
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Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
positive
the lake bed was uneven a mosaic of large rocks loose and dancing under foot with each shuffled step an interchange of unreliable shallows and inconsistent depths he wasn't particularly keen only willing to venture in up to his chest reluctant to advance if he couldn't plant paws firmly on soil    or stone not even the lure of food was enough to tempt him; though he wanted his treat a reward    for his bravery the murky water    the unknown    the unfamiliar    the unexpected was just too much
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Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 8:23 AM UTC
paddling with dog
These, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy? And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world—but soon I pass the gates, Now along the pond-side—now wading in a little, fearing not the wet, Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick’d from the fields, have accumulated, (Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover them—Beyond these I pass,) Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go, Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, Alone I had thought—yet soon a troop gathers around me, Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of dear friends, dead or alive—thicker they come, a great crowd, and I in the middle, Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them, Plucking something for tokens—tossing toward whoever is near me; Here! lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull’d off a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailing down, Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage, And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside, (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me—and returns again, never to separate from me, And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades—this Calamus-root shall, Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!) And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut, And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar: These, I, compass’d around by a thick cloud of spirits, Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me, Indicating to each one what he shall have—giving something to each; But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it—but only to them that love, as I myself am capable of loving.
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These, I, Singing In Spring
These, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy? And who but I should be the poet of comrades?) Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world—but soon I pass the gates, Now along the pond-side—now wading in a little, fearing not the wet, Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick’d from the fields, have accumulated, (Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover them—Beyond these I pass,) Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go, Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, Alone I had thought—yet soon a troop gathers around me, Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck, They, the spirits of dear friends, dead or alive—thicker they come, a great crowd, and I in the middle, Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them, Plucking something for tokens—tossing toward whoever is near me; Here! lilac, with a branch of pine, Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pull’d off a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailing down, Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sage, And here what I now draw from the water, wading in the pondside, (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me—and returns again, never to separate from me, And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of comrades—this Calamus-root shall, Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!) And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut, And stems of currants, and plum-blows, and the aromatic cedar: These, I, compass’d around by a thick cloud of spirits, Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me, Indicating to each one what he shall have—giving something to each; But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it—but only to them that love, as I myself am capable of loving.
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*The fundamental phenomena in nature are symmetrical with respect to interchange of past and future.* --- Richard Feynman                  Millions for Defense In the Cabinet room of Monticello, clutching Decatur's letter, the President removes his wire-rimmed glasses --- Frigate Philadelphia has been burned. Decanting a bourbon, he pours and quaffs. Outside in the piazza the cicadas' din is unbroken. The Pasha of Tripoli has his tribute! In three short hours warm rays of sunlight will greet the outstretched arms of Earth, but for now the bourbon scintillates. Ink splatters on the blotter, as he pounds a clenched fist upon the desk. Not one cent!, he pronounces to the wall-clock. Cicadas hold sway in the Charlottsville night, but on the Barbary Coast a fire is raging.
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Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC
Millions for Defense
987 The Leaves like Women interchange Exclusive Confidence— Somewhat of nods and somewhat Portentous inference. The Parties in both cases Enjoining secrecy— Inviolable compact To notoriety.
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The Leaves like Women interchange
Can I illustrate beauty without the help of my eyes? Will I be able to see the sunlight the clouds floating above the marvel of the skies? Having tried it and succeeded I was absorbed with fascination. The blind described as unfortunates yet now I can enjoy the mystery of touch become suspended with satisfaction. I can touch anything with my eyes folded from animals and other objects. yet the human bodies are far better they’re so warm and so soft can’t be compared with other subjects. Feeling bodies so atmospheric and tense especially the sensation of a woman’s skin. The touch of women’s flesh befitted my addiction their faces, hips, thighs and legs fondling them like playing the violin. Touching flesh became my fixation spending most time contemplating the feeling. Night and days eyes shut in darkness caressing bodies in my over imaginative mind satisfactory, but not so accommodating. Pictures, portraits and views for the eye soft sounds, loud sounds for the ear and the mind. I have touched pots and pans, table and chairs establishing for good the power of feeling the forbidden touch prudently refined. ---------- I didn’t notice anything not around me I felt my whole behaviour very strange. I was crouched at the foot of her body what happened next was totally unexpected it seemed my body was about to interchange. My body was becoming entangled with hers it felt like my hands and hers were divine. Every time I touched her face I felt it on mine same with messaging her thighs, stroking her legs so frightened it sent shivers down my spine.
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Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
The Forbidden Touch
Can I illustrate beauty without the help of my eyes? Will I be able to see the sunlight the clouds floating above the marvel of the skies? Having tried it and succeeded I was absorbed with fascination. The blind described as unfortunates yet now I can enjoy the mystery of touch become suspended with satisfaction. I can touch anything with my eyes folded from animals and other objects. yet the human bodies are far better they’re so warm and so soft can’t be compared with other subjects. Feeling bodies so atmospheric and tense especially the sensation of a woman’s skin. The touch of women’s flesh befitted my addiction their faces, hips, thighs and legs fondling them like playing the violin. Touching flesh became my fixation spending most time contemplating the feeling. Night and days eyes shut in darkness caressing bodies in my over imaginative mind satisfactory, but not so accommodating. Pictures, portraits and views for the eye soft sounds, loud sounds for the ear and the mind. I have touched pots and pans, table and chairs establishing for good the power of feeling the forbidden touch prudently refined. ---------- I didn’t notice anything not around me I felt my whole behaviour very strange. I was crouched at the foot of her body what happened next was totally unexpected it seemed my body was about to interchange. My body was becoming entangled with hers it felt like my hands and hers were divine. Every time I touched her face I felt it on mine same with messaging her thighs, stroking her legs so frightened it sent shivers down my spine.
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Breathless in the winters ewe,valentines the adolescent passion, smiless like a drought world,tears creating up a dam,heart breakers proccess,pronounce and procceed daily a day to remember,swimming, slimming tear fall.calf love will never take you down,it reaches your beautiful inside,traps and translate you'r kindnes into a devil evil's bin.smash your mind into darknes,calf love is a herd of brocken hearts,dissapointments,it inherite trust and close of honnesty but when u once own it,you will never re think,than to re use.sense the heat of frictional emotional force,calf love bunks,sticks and turn,lean above lime light and its ectacy,charge and interchange nor interacts the internal lies,calf love is a misery of ones soul
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May 7, 2011
May 7, 2011 at 5:12 AM UTC
Calf-love
As growth of form or momentary glance In a child’s features will recall to mind The father’s with the mother’s face combin’d,— Sweet interchange that memories still enhance: And yet, as childhood’s years and youth’s advance, The gradual mouldings leave one stamp behind, Till in the blended likeness now we find A separate man’s or woman’s countenance:— So in the Song, the singer’s Joy and Pain, Its very parents, evermore expand To bid the passion’s fullgrown birth remain, By Art’s transfiguring essence subtly spann’d; And from that song-cloud shaped as a man’s hand There comes the sound as of abundant rain.
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Transfigured Life
*yeah, they cut out my third ****** from my shoulder blade and i turned into a bond girl; oh god, you're not one of those bulletproof people confused about love like a nurse confused by a disease? you are? oh god help me... you'll go far! straight to daddy's pocket purse and saturday night... you'll throw stilettos at chandeliers and expect a catwalk blackout... god forbid that should happen with everyone biting their toenails.* between us we share the bathroom and the bedroom, we sit on the stilt framing see-through of it admirably airy and welcoming stars: wishing for foxes and women respectively, all you can hear is a meow... meow... meow... meow meow... moo... µ... meow... meow interchange between these two rooms in the garden air, it’s like a fetish orchestra giving ‘prior to sleep’ crescendos, and it makes sense to write a forgivable poem of this least content, content with the least as me writing it; well d'uh, of course i had to write it, i wasn't going to stage a boxing match with stella artois losing care for words and taking care of action, i was going to mediate the page like a kite being passed on with paddington bear's secret inscriptions to get from london to sydney; i hope it worked. the drunkard? oh... he's either silent, crying, laughing, or simply reading.
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Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
sarcastic impromptu with quarus
Some people in this life are here to be looked after others made to be the carers I think I am here for the latter complex minds are born and clearer simpler minds too like man and woman soft and hard we differ but in the interchange of time together grows a harmony a music of happiness that forms around ones aura and makes all things seen through it beautiful Margaret Ann Waddicor 10th May 2016
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May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:07 AM UTC
Carers and cared for
The snow melts to reveal sad assortments of garbage Strewn along the sidewalks like a ***** bricolage The geese occupy our emptying quad Each is a blessed sign from your god The early bird rises far before the dawn Bragging in bird-tongue about his perfect lawn Global warming shows its ugly face And the weather becomes a temperamental disgrace Moving trucks and vans headed toward the interchange Each summer my peers look forward to happy change To work or not to work, that is the question But often work is more than just a suggestion April is the time of transitions The time of decisions Move from brain to body From student to entry-level nobody It’s nice work if you can get it But every year I forget it Wait until the last minute Get hired just in time to quit Exams and singing Farewells and resume printing Interviews and bargaining All these things remind me of spring Longing glances across the fluorescent lights of the store I long with everything I have for him to cross the floor Every year we interact but nothing more But every year I hope the power goes out so I can be his ***** Well, roll up your sleeves It’s time to produce! Five months away from the tuition-grabbing thieves So there’s absolutely no excuse!
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May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
April's Curse
Rearrange, re-estrange, re-derange. Exchange the change you Prearranged with something Even stranger. Interchange your long-range Thoughts for something Shorter, maybe don't be Shortchanged this time around.
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Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Rearrange
When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state it self confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
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Sonnet 064: When I Have Seen By Time’s Fell Hand Defaced
I've long since kept an extra set of friends in the background. Its always good to have a spare. Easily replaceable, daily interchange
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Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC
Alley Talk III
The roaring sea collides on the rocky shores As we watch From heights above Inside the lighthouse Between us stands a cool breeze of harmony Wondering To take this relationship further Perfect are we A bond so unbreakable Eternity carrying As hearts renew Our words be timeless Lifelines singling out To someone not true Deception Is a honey bee sting Flavoring a taste So souring to be turned out Enviable confinement A query so embracing, I rather not Who else Can interchange a dominance of passion
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Sep 8, 2009
Sep 8, 2009 at 9:03 AM UTC
Inner search
The seasons interchange Replacing the next Bringing forth new chapters as I reap the past I find myself reaching a new rebirth Every year I die Every year I am reborn I take moments to look over What this year has brought I've noticed I'm more grateful to be with the ones I love and my faith is rekindled by the fires of my soul Time gives clairity We lose we gain and we learn too quickly Things never remain the same But I've found it with in me to form and to shape The very mold which is life I've mastered destiny
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Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
Destiny
Dreams are a learning zone Full of multitude and form A nightmarish of classes Passes, cases of books The library is a showcase Patterns of faces and races Sprinkles and tastes of colour A forever buzz of the day The end of term flaunts Gaunt of overpass and dance Papers and pens are the street The corridors scream of trash It's clean up , of the **** up Reports and targets challenge The students are an interchange A bridge of liberty and trade As the night haunts,dark evades The zombie awakens in a room An abandoned building of flight The old weary woman chases A race of fear, as the dear ages In cronies of spaces after me Eyes meet, ear neat, miles meet Legs reach, hands swing,hair sweep The prolonged zombie haunt A maze of the unknown past In haste of hate and thunders As the flashing light rescues
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:04 PM UTC
The Zombie Chase
Couldn’t grasp a report today… dear child. My broadcast body tuned to this frequency Wouldn’t turn the channel ‘mind so beguiled Me and my ******* voracious tendencies Like a blood clot in my brain these words are filed This new sensation is my delinquency. Let’s shut it off... and get away. Flip the switch on my ten-pound nemesis Can shoulders bear its weight day after day So Long the time has come to finish this. This child as pure as I am blight; Let’s both be free. Don’t Plant the Red Fern angel, he has long to Grow Son, here’s my soul, please interchange with me Like the boy I wonder, “Where will I go?” As I’m not so proud of my biography Alright Jack, it’s time to Get on the Road with this show. Hell is a library with only one book, The Inferno. _TRF 12/13/16
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Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
“How Will I Know What to do When I Get There?”
Reflections I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map a true and correct path
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Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 5:55 AM UTC
Reflections
Reflections I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map a true and correct path
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Draw a clear line, definite demarcation of reality and illusion, he was given the brief straight and simple, by the impatient project chief, no ambiguity to it, just a matter of sorting it out, what is real, what isn't when far enough in to it, he found it humbling, everything real begins from  nebulous, returns to it, real and illusive, are in a dance of interchange, exhilarating, the cheer spreads as cosmic glow beyond destruction and creation universe, a kaleidoscopic percept seemed a conjure of cosmic imagination.
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Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Reality is the beauty, in an illusory body
In the days I spend doing nothing, In the nights I spend dreaming, And amidst both the states, You are there. In my heart where I feel, In my head where I think, And where I interchange both, You are there. In my smiles that you bring, In my tears that you wipe, And in the vice-versa, You are there. In the life I live, In the death I die, And in all I do in between, You are there. Where I am there, Where I am not, And where I wish to be, You are there. Where you are, Where you are not, And where you ought to be, You are there. In my nowhere, In my everywhere, And in my elsewhere, You are there. In me, In you, In us, You are there. In the heavens, In the hell, And in this world, You are there. You are my world, You are in it, The world is you, So, you are there. In my confusion, In my solution, And as their creator, You are there. You are there, I believe. I do. Even when I don’t, You are there. I love you, And I hate you. For with me, forever, You are there. Even as I write this, The words whisper, And are evidence that, You are there. Smiling, you stand there, Radiating love, always, You are so far, Yet, you are there. You are there, With me Near me, and away, But I don’t mind, Near or away, With your love And mine, Completing Us, Today, I am proud to say, You are there. You are there, You are there.
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Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
You Are There
Periodically atoms interchange,       Alchemy is tested, Never truly explained, Spending his time, Searching for the, Golden molecular change. Love is lost, Feelings are forgotten Covalence the cost, For exploring possibility, Finding the base, From which to, Synthesize and erase, Time is wasted, And never cherished, Family leaves him, Hes gone mad, Pursuit of gold, Taken the toll, No turning back, The alchemized soul.
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Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 2:49 AM UTC
The Mad Alchemist
i find certain poets too engaged with a pronoun interchange, and underusing nouns, with some fear to clear their footprints to go further; and there's no reason for them to go further, there's more reason to stand-still... and disengage from the basest description language of overly using pronouns and speaking like philosophers: referring to everything with the word thing, whether that's a subject or an object or whatever.
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Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
modern poets
*whatever we speak, it's hardly going to be spoken of.* which means two                   kettles... mind you: target practise                     or as i mind the 2.4                 of said: superman in Iowa... do i care to mind? well, **** me!    they verse in acronym i.n.d.i.a. & c.h.i.n.a. akin to a billion... i'm tongue tied and heaving,        das bōt... this doesn't help the aesthetic... with prolonging dies the excess o...                   kaiser schweizer min took!       whatever that means, they say funny accents in **** to **** a thought of a zeppelin... yhwh: or the hollowing-out, awaiting the god to lift us out...            Pythagorean umlaut into a macron joinery...             depending on your aesthetic... Kreisler schisser...                           twins anti avid, interchange s and z...                                   Charlotte and sharpening, shearing and cheering, and so many excuses...          the chard and the sh and the charcoal and the shattering of, of the chatter:                   cheap and sharp or the acute variations of śarp & ćeap... or what the first H represents: an upper punctuation marking, above the letter,               Y or gamma γ vs. Υ (upsilon)             in latter phrasing comma...    or what's pinpointed with Y and what's later replicated in trigonometric W of sine and cosine, as is Y the tan divergence... excesses bound to later and latter... how to differentiate? the lay'ter from the latté of not mopping up the surd h and the vocalised h that's asphyxiating within catching breath asthmatic?                       people forgot punctuation in the same way they forgot diacritical markings but at least they got a pretty picture and dyslexia, and iconoclasm, and modern illiteracy; as said modern conspiracy theory: far **** away from 1990s cartoon network... everything you just said: doesn't prop a need for me to buy things; which is why, i guess, you need a drugs trade that's the alternative of consumerism.
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Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
dāß gelb bōt
*whatever we speak, it's hardly going to be spoken of.* which means two                   kettles... mind you: target practise                     or as i mind the 2.4                 of said: superman in Iowa... do i care to mind? well, **** me!    they verse in acronym i.n.d.i.a. & c.h.i.n.a. akin to a billion... i'm tongue tied and heaving,        das bōt... this doesn't help the aesthetic... with prolonging dies the excess o...                   kaiser schweizer min took!       whatever that means, they say funny accents in **** to **** a thought of a zeppelin... yhwh: or the hollowing-out, awaiting the god to lift us out...            Pythagorean umlaut into a macron joinery...             depending on your aesthetic... Kreisler schisser...                           twins anti avid, interchange s and z...                                   Charlotte and sharpening, shearing and cheering, and so many excuses...          the chard and the sh and the charcoal and the shattering of, of the chatter:                   cheap and sharp or the acute variations of śarp & ćeap... or what the first H represents: an upper punctuation marking, above the letter,               Y or gamma γ vs. Υ (upsilon)             in latter phrasing comma...    or what's pinpointed with Y and what's later replicated in trigonometric W of sine and cosine, as is Y the tan divergence... excesses bound to later and latter... how to differentiate? the lay'ter from the latté of not mopping up the surd h and the vocalised h that's asphyxiating within catching breath asthmatic?                       people forgot punctuation in the same way they forgot diacritical markings but at least they got a pretty picture and dyslexia, and iconoclasm, and modern illiteracy; as said modern conspiracy theory: far **** away from 1990s cartoon network... everything you just said: doesn't prop a need for me to buy things; which is why, i guess, you need a drugs trade that's the alternative of consumerism.
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