irriatiate these crunchy moth balls. i’m serious. the clavicles are dancing the carinado
filthy factorials. i mean, not filthy, just covered with sawdust, or maybe some ta-tt-t-t-troll dust. i mean, ashes. ashed out.
but forget the troll dust, me hearties, when you’re trapped inside an icecube, there’s not a lot of salve for that bleeding. don’t let all the good luck pour out of that there shoe…. enough.
faced with such bisected (trisected) chaos. is there anything to do but wonder? i’m all about those freedom monkeys and their freewheeling freestealing ways. when will the fuddyduddys go away?
turn your booko, sketch some. is there any sweet relief?
even though on the surface, it’s all burning… what really squalors underneath?
(big bites, big bites. chew)