IS PUNCTUATION VAGI NERVES AS TO WHAT EXTENT WHILE WE BREATHE AND HOLD OUR BREATH ARE WE MEANING OR MODIFYING OR MANDATING OR LIVING OR LEVEEING OR LEADING LIBERTY

where were Breuer and Hering when our first sample of howl noised all over the multifarious cosmos as the master pitch, the institutionalized matriarch that could ever either announce or bounce  birth to miss divine authorship entitling a goddish title or commend whereas what was left out for them summed up to be a mere discovery and we do deal don’t we with quite as much predatory as variegated forms of inflation the first to be evinced is the very first inflating of our lungs expanding and contracting and expanding and contracting as if we were witnessing a draconian drone a dueling dance between oxymora and pleonasms some say the oxygen that preserves us stainless is the very same that rust us next stop underground when we share ideas we thought for our own and try to organize their neurons so that they can safely carry electricity and thus enlighten how much of the sparks need we rid of and how much of them should we spoof to keep the orgasmic flickering driving our interest and the so called comprehension try to imagine music without bars signatures rhythm and tempo would it be a surreptitious betrayal to pleasure or else or is the ocean which runs over the metronomes for a fact excommunicated from the tidal orchestration like heartfelt tears wipe out from a baby’s face with the help of steel wool tissues novelty comes from a nonchalant devotion of welcoming bias free the air and everything that comes with it keeping Breuer and Hering as one carries a cameo to remind them of what could’ve been at most but most and most and most of all as one carries it feel how much it weighs for their hand not how handy they could or should be alas the best comparison about the powerful impact of mass novelty I can come up with is on the occasions we fetch our dogs we flip a fib that turns and leaps in the air, sometimes it captures on its way the sunlight blazing our eyes with seduction we race the race and we bite the bite and when our tongue tastes the rib I mean the fib and gets no flavor out of it too late it is halfway down the throat we swallow it and feign to digest it until we crap another gem at the break of the day breathing and meaning are yin and yang of trying to concoct a continuum over the road of discoveries roads shouldn’t be paved they should be if laws were not lolly lares waived

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WHEN OPPOSABLE THUMBS JUST CAN’T FORCE YOUR MIDDLE FINGER TO ABSTAIN FROM FLIPPING OUT, THEY MIGHT JUST BE APPEASING THE PEAS IN YOUR PINCER’S POSE.

Some seers in the far, far past postulated that fingers had been concocted to write when wildly wrung.

The concept of stroking simian similar souls or fetching foreign affection was, at that point, stricken from the scrolled gazettes and kept from our curious eyes and ears in gilt garrotes. Sublimation, then, was no other than a décolletage to whip up the smell sense while decoying vision from comprehending how a turd might easily become a fart in a fetter of thecodonts.

Writing has been – we wall know – wrought to writhe, wail, wile, wive and prove prose corrosively alive.

At the end of the day, it all depends, of course, on where and what you browse, and on which tongue your lee log lisps with.

 

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ARE WE BEING AUTOCRITIC OR DEMONCRATIC?

Intestable, bequests ‘neath the increase of viral vibes abscond their true heartfelt hypocrisy.

Ruling out the vias which naturally – that is, possessed and repossessed by lancinate, everbreathing effort – head to and for cells meant to bestow some bats heirs will strike strokes with, seals exclusively meant to reinstate  the ticklish compulsion that tears up an olpewise fugue opacity appeased before translucent targets, and schools of shoals where bisque bort brace their momentarily chaste chests to suck on the horizons which hurl
their brisant abrasive parlance to be caught by any pair of impaired or pared down convictions that ray out, adrift, and abroad with the intention of ballistically
prancing – fices within fierce fists – as opposed to molt mode and enamel perception as much as fill it with fresh unusual ambulation, denoting an out of order or outof fashion salutary fling.

Are you updated op-eds, upcoming outdated coeds, or a backspace, to date,
orchestrated upon coerced mouse pads?

Be us binary, or billiard billboards boasting insetting assets over and amidst the drizzle drools, we will not likely see Pangea onliest as a lyrical concept as it should be before we embrace our internal continents.

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WHY IS DUST A POWERFUL NATION?

Climbing up and down iota hills, my toes scratch these multifarious
minerals which dwell in seemingly disorganized colonies, leasing to our lexicons as
pebbles.

Barefoot, they overhear them grey grits attempting to only whisper in
clinks and clanks – however, distracted by the landing of my feet, their words
louden up a bit over the brim – the reason, a rough term for sieved figures,
and the currencywise royalty which
characterize and define size as cognizant both from the optics of a single
symbol of singularity and the ubiquitous uberty of a sum.

Whether size is voluminous
or imperceptive to the naked eye, doesn’t their appreciation bulk together
owing more so to the concentration of quantity – which from a dissipation
equation is equal to infinite, no matter how much countable they may, in
fact, be – over-electric and the strength they battery up, given the diversity
of atomic thoughts and behaviors that cling up, grouping whole fractals to form
fractions of another whole?

Constellations.

We may always search or be touched by the perennial, adverse
– are they really? – forces of attraction and repulsion. Yet, however distant
in magnificence and magnitude, or in apparent share, or place in space,
pebbles, peoples, planets, and the full range of plurals interfere in as much both in individual lives and still lives.

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UNRAVELED DEN

Love solely rests on a quiet cluster of photographic reticules: it survives only in the miniscule fragments of memorabilia.

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dos poderes e arbítrios

quando a saliva tem gosto de cetro esta não contém enzimas ou seu processo digestivo.  o discurso que dela umedece e irriga não é, da verdade individual, categoricamente, o seu mesmo; é mesmamente, outrossim, de um mero mesmerismo, um seu delírio adjacente.

o poder desonesto desejado e pelo magnetismo sacramentado – é já delator de si em sua própria concepção e acepção de batismo. atrai um pólo, um seu diverso, aquilo que em si lhe falta. assim reserva-se, exprime-se, e age a soberba arrogante do poder subjugador, mui diferente – é imprescindível evidenciar – do poder facilitador de possibilidades; pois o primeiro é de desigual impacto e força sobrepujantes, enquanto, o último é de desigual conteúdo pelo fato de que suas biografias constituem-se de eventos e sorções díspares. as duas faces do primeiro, cuja fertilização e germinação, supostamente, são complementares, na realidade, tragicamente, são compensadoras. no último sua irrigação e florescência, que, por vezes, podem ser confundidas com agentes compensadores, são, em verdade, felizmente, complementares.

bolt

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