So this is where I press the keys of a typer and don't think about form or arts or anything like making sense, and then something is supposed to be intelligible afterwards, right?

Well, it is kind of dark in this room. dark like a pixxelated pin pointed graphite drawing made by imprinting with some energy the paper. apinting as in what is a painting, some color or words+ words of color, a colorful phrase, or perhaps something silly that is just said to take some form, to conform to what is already in the common knowledge base. like a base palt or other fusilage, vial, drawing up liquds, I sometimes wonder how trully remarkable it is that drinkkng so ittle a fluid state in the viens and muscles can be mainteained to some degree, at least.

I don't know how I feel about this, is this, not that it is less ardous, or tedious than what I thought, but ideas seemed to be flowing coagulatedly, like the fat things I eat today got pressed into my thinker already. beddy betty, that cartoon figure I thought was good-classic and not to out there with provacation. Still, i must escape this topic

Does anybody, well I do, but feel as if sometimes their own before and afters aan be looked at as drugs vai no drugs? I mean super yoggis spirit sytle bliss and all, and other substance users approximate his ecstasy for a temporay rise, but motions notions, surprises, higher and lower city skies, yeild also peaks taht are somewhat artificail, and these are things I try to avoid,

Null and void, back ink on white paper that is really pretty sometimes, dul grey on a tie is not so much, even when highlighted with silver. and. desk jobs tend to suck but the offer chances of flying paper airplanes to lovers or other breaks from the monotone experienes of life going so slow... So time or the timeing of things, as in when time is put ionto some task even though it does not make immediate bucks, wealth, happiness, due s, is something like a eally ong shot of heroin in veins, one taht lasts a lifetime, and the life force is the rise, get it too high naturally and go into otherlands like a yogi pro. Or stay and ride the emotional rollercoster of drugs via substance,. Religios overdose is good, god, if I could write a peom in a minute.... Yet food is legal, it can be drug like, air, water, poison fidhy do like other reasonable things and get out, but isn't that how we evolved???

So evolution by using less things in environment, by being less upset by turmoil, bound to happen to all anyway. So that leaves future, after spiritual epidemic as left garbled roadside mud slinger turtle back steinbeck style, as those who can do better with less, and get high off of simple gestures of hand. man, yet I am not really missing out, or maybe I am. Fully biological an human is to be what I am limited to. It sometimes says that the good it observes in practice wouldn't be facilitated by society either, by the way, cyberness is a certain part toxicity, will I walk tomorrow? I must, I must, must ist kissed, where was she that turned to stone, als, alone! yet guild and gild, why is it that fate thus spilled, I swear it officer, it was only the miss. t. that I saw on the 2cd of november at 5 o'clock p.m. by the riverside, yet something, though perhaps evil died.

Aware, wired, yet not quite there, the time and experience, always truth's what not it wears. close m eyes, would rub temple if i thought it did anyting. bing, do i like bing, who actually uses it? I'm here. defenseless, bare (clean since) Action says talk, talk barks, thus man has brain. brain to be aware, talk..... talk is cheap. and time is money, so it is a matter of which you have if you want to engage what you make with what you can get. brain to understand dog song to unwind the spring of time, that rhymes too well to make sense on it's own. but isn't prose illogical? logicing in prose, nose, mob led, just as that one Edgar poe Allen guy said, before he was found gutter driven, shevering turbuc-his wife but him no, dressed though, in clothes not his own, is nature placed such i mens eyes, oh LIES! HIs part in nature was art, and art means only, his end was bitter, but one mysterious indeed. A good end for a poet, and he likely did really know it.

Should I stop, nah, what's it matter, batter up, my percentage is below practical.The brain exists t hear, to categorize, but categories are no part and play into nature, to create her, is half a tune and dollop of daisy, maybe I raise these kids some way day z how do they fly... bye, but I missed her, still a twirl of colors experience, dents my mind in it's due labor, savor chocalate in old age, Paige , once was a girl that I knew.... Still, the days turn as pages. What is all the rage about today then? doesn't the same thing happen for all, to all, or me, nothing at all. stall, the question still sits, and mind, gurgles in fits.

gurgle, wait murmur, that a sound and language in its own, stone, sit still, yet spoke, and not alone. Creator, thy maker, not of one or tree or thing, yet sing to me softly, swing as we did, corked up by the Id. One can't have one bottled wine and still the divine. So forget the wine, throw it on the curbside, and let the excellent times roll.

choice moist cake, bake, make me eat, seed sate. mate. <these things show a gate. still barking, give reason to appreciate, the sounds entering my ears, do faintly,as appears, to entertain, lions roar, sore till hurts.. that was a bad play date,,,,,, nnnno. But still, the existence as a will. Yeilds, fields, take it all. their is something else, to which my spirit calls.

It says deeper, always deeper, until the ants crawl between the floor boards of what is being said, of body out of hand. Grossly articulate what is meant, so that when you arise, you can protest it being dreamt. But nobod, of reason that is, ever really would lie, decieve or cry wolf, so that regard for me, when I get sucha look in my eye, is really out of place and uncalled for. door. closed and opens, another"oh brother"hahaahahh

there is not much i can do about the worls, so let it be said, that as I am living, is that state to be dead. there is no break, not this, not that , yet still instead. Oh lovely, cursed fate, it's never too oo late.


Nature must have a language, and it is tough to hear. It says things that are spooky, but it is always clear. To speak is to conscious to meanin what was not there, creation, sweetly, how do i , well, sometimes I pear, anyways. It speaks without words, but they help one understand. Cut it, reel two.
Round two. fight.

I'm glad i never watched wrestling. The world gets lonely, why wouldn't it talk to it's toe. to create another consious in man is a drug, and to be man without regards the greater unknown and al parts of the univers is to say we are conscious alone and seperate from its unity, and is akin to the first delusion mentioned. Thus we hear the stars relate and explode, but listening closely, its abode sets our heart. well, at least to start!

God, time,

I can't stop you flow, it doens't seem to matter that I feel like crap lately, to feel good is a miracle for later years. That's what doctors tell me, what is said in journals, that it shouldn't be a problem until it's too late. Besides never being too late, in my opinion, is not possible. What is there, that will make a difference. difference. Okay not to played, said something that matched nicely to my ear. Still, here lies the manner of the fault, authority doesn't need the backing of truth in society, and so lies burden. I'd be an ***, or mule, then pass on unkown stressors, beneficial traits aside. Not geniticaly, but prescriptionally, an environment inept to understanding. But somehow, I don't need that face, those gestures, at least in vast quantities.

Spontaneaty, frailty, amiss in the world, bad rhymes scold, what strict order says. But the matter, of connotation, is not in the explicit sensation, but rather a mental view, two steps removed. Abnormal policy is not always so bad, yet golden rule reversed lets life be lived (well). Why is gold on my mind, a lie or line that reminds me of the last fall, of trying to get some satisfaction, dull. Environment is a trial the lets buds bloom, even with out buddy near by. Sigh. I can't think about anything besides getting a guitar. But I don't give up on myself, tell tale heart, as it errs.

Flower, if I could make you bloom, in my hands like potasium in my gut from a bannana, I'd do so. The best that can be done is a warm hand, but cold too often have hold. If I'm out in the land, I feel more like a deer, without mad cow disease, or other variants, though. Time holds sway.



without structure, i mean emotioanlly with words. could harp ther moreso thanw hat lies inbetween what makes sense, and the leaks in my brain. personality, sensuality, of love, mood, drive, hiding silently, kills more than what blooms. It is something that you can't really think about ratiopnally, and watching empiricists speak so gives good negative expamples, role models, ways to play. May and be that has and see are rhymed not in mind as much as in time. Yolo is dumb, but I can't argue with the irreverability of arrows fall. Perception, exception, and no movie trailers here! so there more apparent, is the feel and not think attuitude of look, i'm here. TIme is mystery, flowing soft as it does, act out as a man extended, to percieve what lies ahead, but extension, moving forward, is the not in words spoken. These are the gaps, in our social attire, that addict traits in behavoir. They look for savoirs, but the message is inherient, creatively heard, so let punishment or reward go, it doesn't work. Society has no hold in what lies in man's hidden heart. To sit in the dark, but to light up, is what most needs done. Theory is bunked on social habits, in short, the running practice. Blame shows hiding of reasonable interpretation.

Free minded writer Left .handed fighter cuz i love her thats why u spite her
Dick in the world
No condom
I wifed her
The earth
But there never be peace tell the world go to peaceis

A wife is sought for a certain liberation,
But really one must transcend isolated sensation,
What was fought for gladly makes one reminisce sadly,
But without peace for ourselves and all it ends badly.

My wife is a knife my symbol for life
Knife in my back ungrateful b,itch
Give one to you back how u like that
Gratitude
I learn from my and other mistakes
Brain food
My peace of mind in a forum of a bullet from black 9
War time
Peace whit one self
All i got is self
And when i die whit ones self
So no help
Bad byself
Just fold cant cope whit the cards i was dealt the pain i felt
Can u walk in my boots take a step and loot for food
Black and blue cuz that how the cops bet us
So im i wrong for saying
Shoot a cop in a back
And make him the *******
Am mexican do u now that
If u seem me full of tats
I see you take a step back
Take two
Na just give me 50th feet back
Here my peace
Peace of pride,u hind
They aim at me
In other words the blame on me
Just the same old me
F it the blame on e
From eric g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNuNTciVLkA