First impressions.
There are books of catechism, interpretations of many minds.
I can't contain such work with the times ahead.
Like as if you would carry the voices here on after.
I haven't looked at the inside book yet
So a poem of contrivance.
First impressions.
There are books of catechism, interpretations of many minds.
I can't contain such work with the times ahead.
Like as if you would carry the voices here on after.
I haven't looked at the inside book yet
So a poem of contrivance.
No, I don't know if they could, even as I attempt to return from the bottom.
Shifting shadows now.
Now they send me reassurances.
That I'm a fraudulant derative hack or that I'm not?
Shadows, I can't win within there presumptions of trends that defy any sense, any mental reason. With any line of reality that brough with coherentism or incoherentism be damned
to want to be popular, or commodiular, or slopular
well liked for their well-likedness.Going to communicate like lenin and clothes
to the normies, average people, to the intelligent fools with the bad acumen of intelligence to nowhere
With the tweeness mangerialism.
Conservative concept of the eternal return with folk eliminative materialism thought terminating cliches. Then a return to the hustle, forever returning to the same benchmarked commercial sex status quo.
These sexual states of affairs will forever persist and be done repeatedly, till enough traffic comes, or till enough attraction persists.
Never enough for a masturbatory of a pleasure principle fantasy of non-realist conception to see another world, then become another gooner of sexual fantasy, commodified into a good hackneyed relationship with a audience to drive into another cycle.
Kinks, kinks, kinks never change. At least you don't bother me.