Fuck you guys, I'm building my own shack right here in Kentucky Shack County.
Pistols in their pockets and buildings so tall they leer like looming tremulous prisms.
It's cool and breezy here in the liquid slams of the void.
Whiling away the time, gliding across quiet dusty surfaces, existing without pockets.
Showing things to my grandmother.
Sliding my feet into these super soft slippers, I stand upright and cry big salty rivers in little bedrooms doubled and quadrupled throughout the planet.
Mr. Kent built me a shovel with legs, and I'm not even slightly happy about it. My collar is getting all roughed up, the handle on my bike is bent a little, and I haven't even seen the sun in a few billion decades. My life has this trembling quality, I have to withstand gravity and work to sustain my body. Otherwise it's straight into the bowels of the thresher for me! I'll succumb to the pulls and friction will shred me into soil, these intricate brains collapsed and extended along rusty gears.
Hohoho. Gogogo.Yeehaw, Fritz.
My neck is so tense, I want to chop my head off.
Jesus rose again on the third day. He did that.
I want you all to be assured that I am not writing these letters because I want you all to think certain thoughts; I just want to tell you what thoughts I'm thinking.
Poke my ribcage and feel all the little parts; reach up into my heart and feel it pumping, the animate steak.
When this guy walks in, you know he's that kind of guy: A business man. He directs every particle of his being towards all the business issues of our time. He focuses all of his businessy personality traits and channels them into a single unit supporting a vast framework of business-oriented units. The description of the structure of these units has given way to an extraterrestrial field of study that tracks the "business" human behavioral phenomenon.
Hey whoa: I am Superman.
A Father: Nice to meet you, son.
The Plague: I am the plague, woooowooowowooooowoooo!
