Just at the moment you fade out. And think you’re too old for this shit. Techno, tho? It’s whatever. Bowie died for us all, and now haircuts are like $130, but don’t axe me. I has another one and another one.
A masterpiece is of the illusory, no? Like the Sistine Chapel. Something arbitrary, but quiet in intention, remarkable to measure. Not like the Vatican ever hurt humanity. Or saved it.
That moment when you wake up in a tunnel of yourself and then all things lost are either adult or millennial. But not one or another. Silence in spurts of manic fervor. Sort by oldest. Thus, hours of pornography will find a new depression for your skull’s cavity.
Misusing your body like it’s a choice. You think you said that, but really, you’re just a molecule of lube. In an instant, your life is like the precious horoscope of retrograde. To digress is just something I wish still existed, when noise was confined to your basement.
Then you realize Marvin is actually a filf. So finite, agreements with death feel like another walk under zero with the dog whose shit freezes upon hitting the dirt. The Times’ baggie can’t stop it now. There’s nothing but Japan here.
May I? Act like ‘Sein. Sad the Hus gone give a Dam. While drones knock upon doorsteps, I weep in an alcoholic fury at my desk, and the owner of our company is all *smile emoji* within the portrayal I Hurt Locker.
“World Music” is way larger than the federation portrays, so live a little. United Nations will one day adorn your dollar. Ethics are glossy-eyed and flammable. Let’s find a world where islands are our homes. To create the barbaric.
There’s such a fine line between the conglomerate and holy. Mostly because that’s three topics equivocated and separated by a fragile ink or graphite line, but drawn in sand and blood; there’s such a reality. Digress.
Cocaine Daughter is the one you don’t want Prurient to lose. It’s like becoming older and feeling your stride when nobody else will. Let it be, and the guidance will levitate you into paradise. There is no realm outside these Hospital Productions.
When reality is your last bastion, there is always something more.
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