Torpedo's

poetry in a bong and its that easy for me. I'm starting to feel upbeat about the next results cause I have peppers in my pockets driving down Capital Reef with magick crystal resin on my fingers that God Almighty's little sexy secret agent woman just got through licking my lips until they gloss. The sunbelt before sundance driving this serpentine road through rocks of prehistoric crease. The smelly bud up my asshole to remind myself that the world is a bugger and needs to be bugged and then toppled from the top down. I smile at the new prospects of getting even along with lots of other contemporaneous insects. The sun goes down and then its time to put the shades to night flight how far is dirty devil. the odometer reads just a escond. if i only had a genii to experience this with me now. the moon and its sickle. the river, is going to be full of fish says the leaf, see, i knew, my prospects would get better with the dissolving works of summer and springs momentary punch and ideas that grab your pecker and the lights that go out and the need to be changed and the ever possibility of running everything under new rules made by Me.

Cahtedral of Kali

 

THE BLOG THAT ATE THE WORLD AND SHAT A UNIVERSE

grinning the sand mixed red and dirt, clowned with a crown of barbwire. Googles for the sand, in the midnight clash of Conservative Clap or Newborn Relic Drops, of my own blood. I glow to the gleams of my flame, tripping from my mouth, until I sound like a raw electric starspun space lion, and of course her, gliding starship. Vengence for Vendetta's, is a happy smiles for the demonic lungs of sex drive, that laugh, the universe into a ant pile thats just been kicked and all the insects are looking for bugs to eat. I think interoir space of the rugged canyons is far more strategic, because you could drop LA or Manhatten and it would disappear, into the wide Milky Way nothingness of space age wilderness and vibrant poppys, with sexy sirens that call you God and the blugary's of time travel into the future fashions, always the future fashions!! Fuck the past! along with Religion. I treat the wind like a sparrow strung out to Mars and is licking his chops, like a gunfighter. I know the power of the swords, crossed in peculiar potion, in paintings, and the clouds are prophetic with the enormous full moon too. I pride myself on knowing shadows like The Crow, I play the e. g. a. like a real asshole though, ask fucking D N a, and fuck the drums to, but not the dreams of a even share with everything that infinity has to offer! Noteworthy Fantasy Heartpecker, instead, that!! They create for thier own amusement and politics intervenes, thinking it knows what righteous Is. Like a menu? Or a religious drug that you smoke with the harvest queen of green lanterns. I like the horned bitch that sends out supernatural deer to hunt the hunter, with his huntress, that space lioness super cunt rose translucent. I also like the super chick that is, transformative fields of vibrant colossus and the one that Is, into all known secret aspiring fashions of sorcery, of a decadent serpiginous curve elbow knape followed or floored.

Waiting For A Rocket