breathe in a breatharian as i palleted through a chamber full of magnetic light yields, santa claus palleting the onion rag without bones. trellis on top of a heap of grasshopper pastes shielded from all sides by lava or some kind of extract… bolt me down to a rubber mallet and bleat at me wildly upending my blended throats. barbarians, he said with a smirk. breatharians. brontosaurus jeans without tassels or extracts. bloated salvaging pretending to be oneself for a living, a respectable position, but only dogs may apply. stretch out onto a wide blank slate of practical markups. branding is a central issue in today’s campaign, breath. only some people should be allowed to breathe at all, it’s ridiculous how they let everyone do it, i weigh a lot more than i look like i do. bark bark bark. i upped the salmon levels in this pastry i baked under the ocean floor with my grandmother or someone who resembled my grandmother to the point where i didn’t notice. cardboard cutout of my grandmother fools me for six hours before i notice it’s fake. i am an idiot. i lie under a brick thinking i’m alone. shadowed dog breathing into itself, carbonate campaigner or undone breathing trampoline masks. open ended casket handling service, no rules, just cats walking all over your teeth inspecting their idiosyncrasies. brand me with a branding iron otherwise i refuse to act normal i will simply repeat the phrase “underground retard” until you fucking puke, got it? i carry a solid version of my pants to school and it breaks into thousands of tiny bits. i own a school and a small ambiguous piece of trash. nothing else. my shadow is my favorite thing. crease my bowels or reach down into my shirt and retrieve a hidden key or a handle or baboon bamboo. hi onion is this a one to be talked into? i cannot own my name. to what bowel i own suffer … granite grass. pink shovel. dynamic range of milky absurdity plastered upon their basins of the world, tying strands of trombones to the western hemisphere untied but always in the process of tying. i am in the undying process of discovery or transition. brag until you know you’re no longer. without claiming my parents did get married and i don’t understand what interest people take in me, why is doing certain things more important when i’m in certain moods, i can’t rely on what other people think of my behavior. or i will be collapsing one hundred times into a carseat backwards. identity rewards, or some oven mitt systems professional with a ninety day plus pro internship staffing utensil, guided by a consistent bream of unidentified light accompanied by a breath and a rose held by a pair of barbecue tongs… setting sun . sun setting along the waterfront, spoke seriously like a token neutral party, nothing new. breathing into myself i give myself a new life, nothing done before this one, asymmetrical smile, broken pattern anonymous monotonous circumference and it’s inconveniently masked surreptitiously by dwarves in raincoats, scarfs sagging and mothers weeping together in chambers descending infinitely below art spaces in padded units, dragging their feet to win dumb prizes, everyone is taught to be an idiot, the positive influences are fading into oblivion, memories shrink away and sometimes i like to try not to think about any of this, but i’m somehow contained and need scarves so please send them this way, otherwise the plot would get uninteresting… nobody should ever be unprompted by themselves to go outside and acknowledge the self and buying a ticket to the experience of breaking a piece of wood in a small room by yourself, it costs a million fucking dollars so fuck you. get out of here, i ain’t even deliver anything to you because you’re so sequestered in your zone. crumb cake supreme, i sit in a cloud and question my judgment wildly, sometimes it is scary to be around myself when i’m in a bad mood. i can’t see myself wrapped in here without cradling a blonde child held and her bed was next to itself. smoke the top off a blonde baboon laced in opaque tears crystallizing and generating a profit, a lucrative ailment. halves and pieces of 99.9% pure osmium bark. layered inside a patty of undulating baron to the answering machine messages of 2000 gathering clues about growth and negativity and tilting under on the side
walk off and leave me sitting on the faded crosslegged ;;;; I CAN’T STAND UP IN ALL THIS MESS OF RIBBONS AND FLOWERS, UNDULATING CREDIT MACHINE GIVING SUPPLIES LEFT AND RIGHT. BY NOW IT’S A LNEWONWLESE. BYE.
