Fickle fledgling reveals a wizard in a toga
Togachu in homble bozers talks tokens
Taking wisend ends wise with walkers
Through forests of trouble and weekender
Talkers.
To make to mako intake tobacco smoke
Breathe out the wind out and otherwise
Sympathize with my wide eyes cloak blinking
Blindingly stinking she sees with knees
Bleeding.
Tambourines colored tangerine clang toms
Skin bombs breaking song they intervene
Long lengths of legato between chinks in
Stogmato because its really in votro that they
Carry away.
My seamstress, oh mistress, don't distress or
Stress in this, instead could you bless this
Listy mess christ! In
Credulous cat
What's a matter with that?
Nothing I say,
Nothing he says
Credulous cat
Why so troubled
My mind's in a bubble
No it's not. No it's not.
Credulous cat
I think you are fat!
I am so fat he says
So he goes on a diet.
Credulous cat
You can eat what you want
I don't know what I want
You want some fresh cream
Credulous cat
Sociopolitical agenda.
Mraow?
Exactly.
Credulous cat
Why don't you sit?
He goes in a frenzy
Because I am it.
Credulous cat
Yeah he says
Nothing.
Nothing.
Credulous cat
Oh I love you
Then please feed me too!
I do and I do.
Credulous cat
At night you must rest
But I sleep all the day
Telebold, Telebolder, Teleboul by Telebold, literature
Literature
Telebold, Telebolder, Teleboul
Breathing is difficult to do when you have your nose plugged and a finger in your mouth. Aside from a choking hazard, you're also positioning yourself to be summing alien intelligence, suposidly.
Think of children who hold themselves in concempt. They pout and squeel and mess themselves until they are over whatever it is that they once was angry about. My point is that they may put fingers in their holes (noses and mouthes that is) in order to probe greater questions like "what is this?", a question that is crutial to developing our mental capacities. It is a question that explores what is alien to us, in other words foreign, and it makes th
A naughty speck cracks flesh into wanting
Suchers like chains hold a clasp
Wounds are like dogs, always needing
Begging then forgetting hypocrite dogs
A product of short memories like shells,
Discarded but remnant. A dog's mind is like
An ocean, vast and open, leaving its shells
On the shore. Open wounds crevacing spaces
Of pressure, illicit anger or maybe embrace.
Getiing angry because you care a great deal,
Perhaps even love, perhaps even want to
Have sex with, some jelly angerfuck wanting,
Cracked flesh spreading, drawing water in
Sucking pressure, life and memories
Into discarded shells on the shore.
This is a stegasaur, its makes a noise in the swampy backwoods of a dried up creed. A feast is presented to the beast, ten virgin stegasauri waiting for his thick meaty rule.
But then, a brontosaur comes to claim what is his, the dried up creek is home to a latent power crystal that the scientist dinosaur can use to fuel his time machiene.
A fierce battle ensues, many bloody corpses are strewn about in the mad brotosaurus' wake, for he had a single goal to overcome, having did that he would have to face an even more difficult challenge.
I'm so drunk right now and I have to travel home,
People are asleep because they feel the same way too,
They're waiting for a bed to cradle them to sleep,
Without regard or knowledge to the problems of the past,
I want to take this moment home of enjoyment everlasting,
But like all things impermanent, it all must come down crashing,
The moods they feel nostalgilent, the moods they feel okay,
The mood that makes me want to live is the mood I try to remember.
So home I make my way toward across treacherous terrain,
When the moment comes when I am home and softly in my bed.
Don't believe in severed heads, all the hype that has been generated by the media about how we can't reform our hearth.
Don't believe in Mexican suchure, those togomen that blast their horns of rebel and culumnious strife.
Don't believe in Africa who puts the white man dog-down, supremancy is a human condition that is color-blind.
Don't believe in crap music, feelings are free, art is a taste of wasted time, everything you do is a waste of time.
Don't believe in psuedo notions of them, they say, I heard some people, some people say; they do not exist.
Don't believe in imaginary things, even the ones you concoct. They will find a way of i
If feet are pills then I want to go swimming
Small pellet floating devices beam me adrift
Little spongy eggs ensure my safe sojourn
Between my legs, these buoyant capsules
Take me to the deep end, the pressure chamber
For I don't fear to sink when I have my pills
My precious escape to the other end of the pool
These lines are everstretching
Zooming by in blurs of burnish
Streaks in the window travel
In the oposite direction
Black lines mar the surface
Of a much larger invisible circle
If space is curved them I am
Traveling in a larger circle too
Everlasting black white and grey
Lines circle about the window
In a frantic dance contrary to
The direction I am moving against.
Fickle fledgling reveals a wizard in a toga
Togachu in homble bozers talks tokens
Taking wisend ends wise with walkers
Through forests of trouble and weekender
Talkers.
To make to mako intake tobacco smoke
Breathe out the wind out and otherwise
Sympathize with my wide eyes cloak blinking
Blindingly stinking she sees with knees
Bleeding.
Tambourines colored tangerine clang toms
Skin bombs breaking song they intervene
Long lengths of legato between chinks in
Stogmato because its really in votro that they
Carry away.
My seamstress, oh mistress, don't distress or
Stress in this, instead could you bless this
Listy mess christ! In
Credulous cat
What's a matter with that?
Nothing I say,
Nothing he says
Credulous cat
Why so troubled
My mind's in a bubble
No it's not. No it's not.
Credulous cat
I think you are fat!
I am so fat he says
So he goes on a diet.
Credulous cat
You can eat what you want
I don't know what I want
You want some fresh cream
Credulous cat
Sociopolitical agenda.
Mraow?
Exactly.
Credulous cat
Why don't you sit?
He goes in a frenzy
Because I am it.
Credulous cat
Yeah he says
Nothing.
Nothing.
Credulous cat
Oh I love you
Then please feed me too!
I do and I do.
Credulous cat
At night you must rest
But I sleep all the day
Telebold, Telebolder, Teleboul by Telebold, literature
Literature
Telebold, Telebolder, Teleboul
Breathing is difficult to do when you have your nose plugged and a finger in your mouth. Aside from a choking hazard, you're also positioning yourself to be summing alien intelligence, suposidly.
Think of children who hold themselves in concempt. They pout and squeel and mess themselves until they are over whatever it is that they once was angry about. My point is that they may put fingers in their holes (noses and mouthes that is) in order to probe greater questions like "what is this?", a question that is crutial to developing our mental capacities. It is a question that explores what is alien to us, in other words foreign, and it makes th
A naughty speck cracks flesh into wanting
Suchers like chains hold a clasp
Wounds are like dogs, always needing
Begging then forgetting hypocrite dogs
A product of short memories like shells,
Discarded but remnant. A dog's mind is like
An ocean, vast and open, leaving its shells
On the shore. Open wounds crevacing spaces
Of pressure, illicit anger or maybe embrace.
Getiing angry because you care a great deal,
Perhaps even love, perhaps even want to
Have sex with, some jelly angerfuck wanting,
Cracked flesh spreading, drawing water in
Sucking pressure, life and memories
Into discarded shells on the shore.
This is a stegasaur, its makes a noise in the swampy backwoods of a dried up creed. A feast is presented to the beast, ten virgin stegasauri waiting for his thick meaty rule.
But then, a brontosaur comes to claim what is his, the dried up creek is home to a latent power crystal that the scientist dinosaur can use to fuel his time machiene.
A fierce battle ensues, many bloody corpses are strewn about in the mad brotosaurus' wake, for he had a single goal to overcome, having did that he would have to face an even more difficult challenge.
Totalizing narratives, themelic bold. Vegemite
on bread never tasted golden fries. Horror
movies break old fears like a glow stick.
Glowing dicks. Freaks of holocaustic nuclear
oven mitts. Baking is like a game; it takes time
to make. Excellent theories are broken down by
logic and motifs.
Creatish block, b locking my veins, music plays staying the same
Round agin dingo toys in the attic, spining round in circles like I'm going frantic
Until some strange tune harks up some slow noise, it breaks the wind like I'm playing with the boys
The seat's making my butt itchy, I think ill have to take the creeam bitchy
Great lakes and castles are marking the enterprise, I gots to make connections and sever the old ties
Making a fist to the air like some sort of rebel, but all we're doing is saluting the devil, hell
Is gonna pay for this inhumanity, slaughtering humans in epidemic insanity
My rhyme's like aperthid, I cleanse them a
Tulliver and Tolliver are two strange twins, they used to shock the neighbors by taking their rakes and heging the yard with topiyary animals, they used to play piano for seven years but they just quit.
It came time for the recital, and none of them knew how to play the piano, it had been too long.
The only thing that either of them could do was take their lessons of cutting grass and making noise with ordinay instruments. It was a disaster to say the least but the important thing was that they had fun.
I'm so drunk right now and I have to travel home,
People are asleep because they feel the same way too,
They're waiting for a bed to cradle them to sleep,
Without regard or knowledge to the problems of the past,
I want to take this moment home of enjoyment everlasting,
But like all things impermanent, it all must come down crashing,
The moods they feel nostalgilent, the moods they feel okay,
The mood that makes me want to live is the mood I try to remember.
So home I make my way toward across treacherous terrain,
When the moment comes when I am home and softly in my bed.
Roland Barthes said, "Death of the Author," and society said, "Hey, why not?"
They didn't actually kill them, and it wasn't just the authors, either, though there isn't much written about the artists in those early days. The theory was to pretend that there was no author, to better separate the text from the experiences of the writer. Of course, that's impossible to enforce. So society went the other way. If they couldn't separate the author's experience from the text, they'd separate the author from experience.
It worked well, at first. What author or artist wouldn't leap at the chance to live in a commune full of no one but other artists
Just playing around. Message Goes here. Limit to three sentences thank yo.
POME
Get Thouse Nonces RAP
Glowing Dicks
Lines Are
I Want to Go Swimming
Preachy Deachy
Tulaby
In Empty Ocean
Credulous Cat
Tarotty
PROS
Two Strange Twins
Stegasaurus
Telebold, Telebolder, Teleboulderado
JUNK
Smelling Salts
The Tomunest Manifesto
Hanging Over
Some Dood
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