women are like that... the chair isn’t there, no one will ever sit on it... but she still plans for the chair to be there. men are like that... the chair isn’t there, no one will ever mind the chair should it be there... and he still doesn’t consider the chair to relate to the possibility of impregnation with his ******* of the ideas she will have to eat as the prime protein... unless of course he’s forced to go against his freedom and enter her will and make god prove himself freely kinned to her will and the chair.*
i love the fact that i can drink, write, watch the internet, then watch the t.v., think about the bones of imaginary ****** of my hand, switch off the t.v. write, remember the internet is static unless there’s an imput, forget that too... think of something... that’s like a surgeon’s last sight of life that’s more than a funeral mantlepiece... well that’s me... it’s un-rhymed and less classical that you might feel it might be... i want to ******* to be honest... but what’s that, ***’s a handshake?! well... with so many sorry and soapy faces i would look uncaring and clean faced to say hello un-inhibited again... again... again: i can say say it with a life... or sway saying it with a profession as an actor; your choice... ha: he who laughs last laughs true, and all interpretation comes last as first to define wages in consideration of historians - i might have said something like iodine matched up the creases.... although the creases never scented iodine... and the creases where never a wedding-dress... but skin’s leather care for aged 80 in homeric blindness: i might have... should have i doubt unless i was schooled to be the envious of a circus played... it doesn’t really matter... like poetry of girls desiring a contract and newspaper snippets of likes... for that biography of sylvia plath ending with: #fucktartbollockshitbiographywaytoolong! of course... then my ironing playlist changes and i hear xednomorph’s satan’s presence... then ooo la dip d’e doo d’ah becomes a ******* that just wanted to **** on santa’s beard to hear the sunshine song of lapdancing reindeer turning lapdancing into a shave / sheering: ***** tonk thomas engineer said: plot the blues in plural for a patched up sacrifice of itchy thumbs up for the sacrament: icon for a scarce testimony - icon for a scare - pears i can juggle walking up the stairs... juggling crucifixes walking up golgotha... i can’t: if i did... i’d be a pope or a jew!