Where to go? The image of dread on the delicate figure's door. All they need is reiforcement to have spirits surge even if the possibility of a strike down is still there. Casting the median aside, the fledglings bloom under the wing of the elders. Torn between sides. Without a lover where do I end? I become cruel to friends, I feel, for the lost intamacy. Though with one they could get neglected, the same way I've often felt. Perhaps I need a median more than thought. The shirt, buttoned tight, stretches across my back. Bones in view that a killer could easily break yet when in such a position, I am the most safe and carefree.

What I did was only a chance for recognition. The planes held me and I lost the rythym of the true matter of the feeling. I could be blankity blank blank and be like corrugated cardboard to take the shape. FUCK THAT. Blow out, become fierce with a friendly touch. Downside up the slide. A reverse so that we can immerse. The strings got to me but the drums always bashed me the most. Now for an easier more understandable self: I began to record my words again, in story form. The nights without sleep possess me to do such things. The schooling has been coming to my front door with expectations diminished because those teaching do not teach the subjects regular. I might regret this post later for it's devilishness but all is love and that makes all.

Cornered wares hum under hoards of collected particles, that long ago where zapped of function. Omit all remarks. I can't stand this vertical space of ground I consume. Lay down. The gears still turn, all the more unable to fight the fuse lit of thy biology. Rise, tired of the resistance. Should words be captured in a formatted setting to help the absorbtion process of those willing to intake such a stake? Views consistently topped. Without, not a slice of importance.

Oxygen, small portion of this air I breathe. Circulate, the specks of substance from machinery are deadliest. Unrest courses. You're it, I'm it, They're it, We're out. That's the entanglement I strive for. All I wanted was an affluent core, the covering layers can be peeled away in time overdue. As I'm idle, I still include all. I can't say anymore for the networked jerks connections may have been made with.

In the depth of satisfaction develops a fraction, leaking the unmitigated self-replication of desire. Of course there is the release of wings left without a smudge, but where can one be without feeling a budge? What do you know if left out after initial experience? Tune-out, remix, master the mixture. Ornament glimmers yearly for the sentiment. A ritual to grow increasingly tiresome of, or, what more of the contained hope for, their life is just a box too small for them. Is country life the sickening strike? A blow against other dreamt dimensions, possible in a plausable sense. When not bound to the trampled mess bordered by restraining fence. Truly dead for being absolutely rural.

Stranger, have you come to rescue this alternative for me? Understanding a complete month away from a normal setting is abnormal indeed. Some of those there in the proper place claim yearnings for a return but faces turn so quickly once established again. This hood that covers the swarm of hair upon my skull distorts the noise in a nice way. Though the waltz back in may be disasterous, I should be happy for it to focus and clearly organize these rambles.

Reception coming from the satellite attached to the side of my house is fantastically sketched out so Spencer Krug is currently giving me life lessons instead. Considering that my doctor has laid down orders to unravel the confusion that lingers on the borders of my greyest matter, I figured that there be no better place then online. A place of possible public opinion but also on a site that holds some of the dearest thoughts for myself, in the words of artists that I adore. I also can't configure myself all that steadily when the reality is placed on a page directly infront of me (praise the inventor of the microchip and computing machines for having these simple keys to press right here for this being). Perhaps it's that I've made my accessibility to distractions so ready or I'm just one lazy son of a mother, either way, they probably pass on some line of my existence. All of these heavy beats of raving tunes block or bash my connection to self and everyone else, I just can't comprehend which way they go. You'll see many more or far fewer entries from Russe soon.