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The truth amorphous

Why can become a sensation message only indirectly, as in metaphors. Not what it is, then, but what would be left in place if there were more. So, what I feel. I try a shortbread, which is broken, the shape that you've decided you (not to mention heart, please do not tell the heart) and forgotten in the bottom of the pantry becomes the nest of white butterflies. I try a frame that holds the things that are already in focus, but that does not resist if you try to touch the surface (yes, it goes through the hand). Provo crop circles made him watch the clouds, which are not circles, and that perhaps, despite the ear, not even corn. I feel the end before completion. The broken candles that are held to the wick. The confusion of all objects in their place. Markov chains. I feel the context that is does matter, with which they are erecting high walls.

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History fleeting sadness, told a slicing sausage

The perfect travel companion on the train are two, are just inside the compartment and are unknown to each other. Are Maliconico and intrusive. The Melancholy had already climbed into the compartment when the invasion. She would not even turned the word if the invasion had not saluted first. The pervasive confusion leads to order and constant look out the window of Melancholy. The intrusive starts talking to himself 'and if', until one of his monologues exterior does not trigger the spring in the mechanical application, "And she ...?". To crown the paradox is that the intrusive maliconia of the other is very intrusive, while others think the invasion as a somber melancholy.

I do not like traveling by train. The motivations, to list them yourself, I'm sure would be full of pettiness and banality, questionucole of pure contingency. Yet, there are two issues on which my sense of duty to the adaptation can not take over.

For starters, the train journey trampling on my feelings. The train departs and arrives on a fixed schedule, so my desire to get it changes to accelerate. Backhand, nothing of my not wanting to reach their destination is slowing down. There is no way to skip the stops, even when they seem to increase in frequency the closer you get to your destination. There is no way to get to wander to waste time. Towards the good or worse, a train journey invariably turns into an exercise in frustration.

The second obstacle is literary. The problem is that the scene of the train like that of the compartment was gutted. In the train it all happened. Each humanity you met any other. There is no person, animal, plant or thing that has not been on a train, with someone to tell the story. And as for the hate, now I'm not doing anything but put me on a train along with a story, running out this possibility. My only hope is that, like the magic formula, the nth ripezione the formula is the one that finally gets rid of the object of magic. No more stories of washing on the train then, and you can get back on board full of promise adventures.

Off - White The Wolf Comic

It's just weird, but after dinner it's all past

Brothers imaginary fantasized of getting to a spirituality based on blood, blood loss, the flaunting of blood, the sale of blood, the washing in the blood. Chased the portions of the Neapolitan pastiera in the woods, and when they took the appointment in their notebooks taxonomy with large pins. At the table they used to spit out the bolus into the pot to do magic tricks. They played the tyrant, in turn ordered the other to wrap himself in the living room carpet, down in the sewers and address them as fast in a canyon. The brothers were imaginary

the wind blow on the freeway to see what was the medium that would reversed first. Dismantled their whims and hid them in the cables tree trunks. Experiments with electrolysis, rolled their legs with gold and titanium in those moments they could make a grown man weep with remorse at a glance followed by a contraction of the pubococcygeus muscle. One day playing marbles invented determinism.

imaginary brothers, when they found a cave in the mountains, replaced the hypodermic needles with stalactites and stalagmites with CEOs. The language used to communicate with each other was a mixture of melody, comedy, amethyst, country fair and tape measure. They could afford to leave the soap out of soap. No one will ever forget the day they decided to leave the country, since the same night, the constellation of the bull went into the chicken coop to steal three eggs.

Planetsuzy Flying Rabbits

Choose a color and beat it in blood

The seam of the cushion on the back of my neck, bonuses, pay attention. I hope not to forget the things I touched. I am one who denies the dirt in handkerchiefs, something that was my first, or I was. If you asked me where to find the sin, I would say to look in the transition from the plains to the mountains. I do not think

embrace your knees.

There is one part of the thumb, that a bit 'wider, where you meet the two phalanges: battered against wooden objects produce a sound and learned to use it to keep time. Due to the syncopated rhythms, it hurts and I think back to middle school and the popular kids who were holding a metal ring necklace around the base of the thumb. I suppose that distinguish a photo of a sunset from a sunrise is just a matter of concentration.

I wrap the wire around the fingers.

I try not be too sure of myself when I think of what is a cage and what is not. Thoughts that resemble what we wanted was the philosophy, thoughts that seem to messages that make their way TRAL white noise. I began to cultivate an obsession but it came out a bonsai. I stop to watch a beetle crossing a pubic hair on the floor. The scale models made with the card are divided into two categories: the pimps and bullies.

If now I borrow your hands I play a bit '.