Well shit if I hadn't done it now. I knew fucking well that son of a bitch was up here once a while ago. And by God if I hadn't seen such a fine steed before I would've thought some thicket of a bushman woulda done got me. This damn tired wind ain't got much breath around here anymore, but by shit did those mosquitoes get to kickin during the summer time. Started when I was young, looked back away for a while and didn't know what lost me. The ghouls and goblins that haunted my nightmares shadowed upon me a living of terrible, and all that I knew all that too well, even from the time sensed I was young, the dog knew better than to harass a youngin' like me. I gave him a treat, a bit of a bacon and bbq sauce. I heard some bacon gets the blood to stop flowing, maybe help the bleeding a little. The dog didn't have much time left, but I did think that I started to swindle in my mannerisms to better uphold myself to prepare myself to see my beloved hound hit the floor head first, wasn't breathing and I had to call for help. My dad wasn't the best one out there, but that motherfucker sure fucked that shit fucking hate him uselessly, he deserved to die. And without thinking, kicked to the curb to start a new life. Never did see my dad again, guess it'll have once more to wait again, patiently drinking coffee from my sofa. The cupholders were expensive, but I've always wanted to use them.
Since I had paid so much for them. Deep in the sewers began the journey that led me to serve, what a damn good breakfast she had and what a fucking line she writ. I saw her start painting, then it was the writting. It was written from day one, ever since I read the writting I knew that she would be the one to have written it all too many ages ago, back when lead was still in gasoline and youngsters could play at night, the therapy that awoke the devils in me but shit I did love doing it. My secret was help up against me in the wall of the brain at night, so many mornings ago the white wind came upon my soul and shrouded the curtains before me in my mind. Is it cionsidered a dream if you did it by knowing? Only one of the last calls I got was good for the appointment, not much going on there, did it just by chance and got away with it. Never knew how it could happen before, but I didn't try and just didn't care I just knew I had to keep going, the mirage bleak on the horizon, creating lakes of gravitational blindness in the center of our world, rather even the my mind of thinking. I got a text by yesterday, further explaining the plaid film of blue and white to centrate my mind around the emptiness darkness all the while too much exiting of spiritual forces, from it came a side of the world that I could never know and how fast I could know it, only time could tell if it was just a jarbled comet, seeking through the ocean of fumes. Fuses that led so many astray could work without those things that just couldn't take up more time than I thought they ever could. Listening back, I knew it was what I had to achieve to know my deepest conscious mind. Shit did that hit them hard, only to receive the text once again in the spur of the moment, practicing all of what I meant to do in these times. The way of thinking is meant to be fluent and completely untouched by anything, any words that commence should be forgotten and ignored, no forcing should be done is the first rule. It opens everything up to another portal that you can definitely see in it. Try it one day, to open your mind up and look back is very interesting and learning the way your brain talks is consubstantial with green and hastily written, that is my brain writting, my fingers numbing and the song dancing. If only I could explain the exceptionality of accepting is what it is at heart's mind. Look back on it a few days from now and it almost makes sense, to otherwise rule the world from the perspective of prospects. To capture an image of time of your mind that follows a single flowing beat in the sunder wind and trotting. Once the real words leave is when the real event starts, let it open to the most of all the tiring eaves of hang drops of where air collides and trees fall into existence, mispelling the interpretation in the seek of the moment, ambient air on the rise of westerner's whistling winds of mispread hatred and violence.
Take a break for a while, then the masquerade of madness ensues in its own culture of dominion. The words that correlate with themselves will be to a surprise, just how fluent and linear is your mind? You won't know, I urge you the event of knowing and trying. Your brain and mine speaks to itself is very introspective. You can tell when something is forced or when something is off the right path of beaten highways, even if no sense is made it is your own language and culture of written message that will certainly leave your mind into an outcropping of odorous chemistries and things alike in that nature. It was only a time that I felt afar from that ago. It is surprising the fact of when has anyone ever done this? it is only a question of if I should look or not into the open skies and bleed onto it an onslought of stuff that could be otherwise burned in trash. It is very difficult and rewarding even when you know it isn't what you shouldn't write that it doesn't even make sense. Does it do what it is, the multitasking way is \really the truth of reconcilliated obsconded words of hazily thought out description of endless time. Worked out for the time of a while that it did nothing in pretense the faster it goes and the less mistakes make it an unknowing game of what it knows, if any spelling error keep going never stop to read out the mind of the guillotines of any time of space and matter. The more I'm going and the faster it is is the more I will respond to the ever lasting adventures of lies and dividedness. What if it comes to itself that a word is modified or in conjecture? Keep going, it is when you don't think about it that your mind wanders into a goodness. Dont think too much, it might make a way of enitirely devastating the towers of synergy and energy forces of yellow and blue, writting crayola once again and making it stop. I sdhoupdl levat the typos in or not should it be a good idea if to understand isnt possible, whatr words can be deriviative of it and never again so softly written in a piece like this.
I have so far edited all of my words and will do no no longer anymore in this of a speaking time abnd way of stelling a stroy of way. It no longer comes itn the door of a mind that is iopen but blank, I had to correct it to the order of it being a sense of made entirely odf written potential of several different deities. It also slows your mind, even going as so far as speef up the time if you're bored. Tjhere is nothing but it to the cioncentrated relevitiveis of it to snow of the longer cord of progereesssion to it no a stempered feeling of lossing. Reqal words come out whrn it doesnt make sense yyet ythrere are ones that your brain makes for you that dont matter much at all. It started out as a projesct of full on glory of intellectual being some sort of micriscdopic filter of any thingk like of it as a snail or not. They should be in the strewn of semen seas and high heavnes uin hipe of making it better on themselves. The resd apron of many tall sees of any word that were given upon this a story never wrote. Gramar and this had too much time to further speak of the things that they had come up with in so little time they thought it would end wouldn't it have done it right so away. Looking in letters away killed it in many sayings of the recession oh well it hasn't gone so far as it goes to this way of being the may of sight turning minds of garbage into greenless winters of streams and ravines in the storm of hell and life on the border of it all, the horizon peaks out to all of us abnd sends with it a message of gratitude and savior. Rio.