Getting used to the messy linear line and having, above all else, tremendously estranged fun with it (all). Set to soar, by the terrifically angular guide of the, (bargaining) light – where(in) the (tumultuous) cracks (let themselves in…) (and) make(ing) for spectacular(ly sordidly suggested) reasoning again, (entirely)(,wholeheartedly)(, hearts-apart beckoning the call and) (entirely roundabout) dependent upon this tentatively(,strenuously) strong (and strenuous) mind of eagerly persnickety/pernicious/poindexter) theirs. It does not have to be perfect, let it breathe and simply, sensuously, be all of it in (imperfect) training-mode. Again, a blue-chip white-collared colour-filled/-ful gain midst persnickety, snake-eyed existence. And paralysed people – demonically disguised aside intermittently extinguished by/from their own (wrestling/rested) life. The shading technique appears to let itself be recklessly/wrought-iron incredible. Hand-in hand with a painters brain – taking comparative shape by the wind that sways and shakes the Green Isle/Irish barley, the/that uttermost fulfilling and undeniably meandering break of the/that lethargically enhanced line. The darkness can be your favourite lullaby, alibi and cowardice ally. Draw from life what you simply size-ably see it as it comes into constant reach – all of it yours. No other pain but for the fist which she/he feels within their never-ending, nerve-ending creativity. See, we do mean to create something from fair degrees of (malnourished) and nakedly suggestive nothingness. Just. Must. Fail. At. Fucking. Adhering. Playing around with this multi-syllabic pen(cil) – and drawing in again what is/has been screaming/scramming from right immediately outside of your barking/bargaining letterbox door.
No emotion, but for the words he’s been trying to finally fin-tail and (to) finally find…
*He’s been commissioning her whip whilst omitting her walnut.
Please, let this chocolate favouring/flavoured hooker of the nocturnal night pour from the middle of her inner knees.
(Crack her walnut (into play) and bring it all back, whipped into whip-smart and over-elongated shape.)
There appears to be a silhouette shadow here.
Yes, welcome yourselves to the portal for… anything which you wish for it to be… just. follow. the. ceaseless. curvature. of that special speaking. Within (all of) We. Said it/say it, gently.
How long before his swansong – a million times over/too many (altogether) makes singular sense (and) one intelligent baby-step per maladjusted time?
This invisible world that he lives in, he never chooses to feel – created/creates itself from natural-born selection

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