stuck in this rut, reveling in reaching, ricky and louis laughing at twisted tales like sherlock on a good manic day, goofy with hysteria throw happiness in cyanide, worse for fever and worse for cold, worse for hangover, too conscious of the trifecta of time, not conscious enough of growing old, massive teeth baring ***** and snitch and ******, all the ***** words thrown into a frying vat, frothing and frolicking in mixtures of mundane, however twisted in the opposite, do come again?
worse, then worser, then the worsest you can imagine, thrown into the sea for some sort of great escape, some sort of greater story, to retrieve a golf ball that was planted at the beginning of the joke, the joke is funny, and we laugh
and perhaps the man that is somehow removed from this time lapse will lose his ability to know hysteria, the man who no longer knows seriousness will live his life better but not contribute humor to the mix, but will be, as a tree, indifferent
given away, given up, given to suit, to jacket, to shade, to gray, gray gray, fifty shades of ****** up, I laughed at that one, but later I whipped and she screamed with pleasure, the truth hides and has a loving eye and a whipping tail
a red faced ******, hysteria, the cure for cancer, to humor, to understand truth yet purposefully mislead, the bit, and finally, the bow
