Dear poodles of the summertime, I am concerned about the lack of mashing and mix-up, the lack of brain cells and research in the frontal and basal portions of the uber-real cortex. Where are the unifying concepts of mechanization? The branches are stretching and multiplying at their ends, extending outwards in a frenzied plexus. There are Mythraic wanderers combing the dunes for clues and portions of wisdom. There is a pink oozing plenitude in the weeping cracks of synthetic hardness, there are boneless thieves in the godless cuddle nation. We are always backwards, always paying the price for tomorrow today with rashes and gaping sores and scabs. It is visceral, this pre-punishment payment option. There are bands of naked bloody tribal renegades running past me with weapons of the cut and insertion. I am a fright in the dark and sing harbinger melodies to myself as comfort. I have love for the puppets of playtime, I invite them to play bash and forensic analysis with me in the wee hours of my attic. Your attendance is requested.
Good night to the sleepless for they are without blame. We are all junk-bears in a furry romance analogy.
Today is tomorrow,