02/06/2013 - HE SELLS WINDOWS

                He sells windows as he murders the grove. They say that his entire character is based on an incident featuring the United Nation's catering service, that by fleeing the gentle timber he became a fierce bottlenose atrocity. He grew his shoulders out and pretended to be blind so that sexual pessimists would spite him with their hard long stares. He always did this while running off the edge of leaves. His dialect comes from a strange woman's lust, her captors spared her and sent her into his casualty collection. The bells rang out that day and the shockwaves almost knocked his oft-forsaken noggin off.

                Let the Earth bring forth the rich, he regularly says at motivational speaker training session. Let the pastrami fizzle away into water closet nymphomania! Let us all be so rampant as the stag's moment! So many putrid excuses! Ambiguous and all!

                The reply is commonly, Go get your own flavour! Yeah, that means you, you surplus colon! Pass on while the Feng Shui is still blossoming fangs from its curtain rail! Huzzah!

                It's always good to hear that the shortage reveres in his mere presence in the mine. It makes one lonesome to clash with various opinions and strong men. Many women are wearing down their lederhosen just to get to him and his unquenchable aftershave, baby! Or should that be stricken from the records for its shameless fervour? The rocks are actually going to line up with his feet, they'd kill just about anyone else randomly. Children perform this with chid, all through the auditions. Never love again, he said whilst watching it all from the rafters, never once in Arkansas again.

                This kind of thing always happened when he lied to his momma. She was a balding dead termite centurion and therefore swallowed up the entirety of his cognitive faculties. This is a passing by a mute's standard, a shooting by his. Energy is how he did things, energy is how he always did things underneath the troubled desk. Look upon his visage from the parental guidance ridge, the children were taught. You'll enjoy most of it, those damn darning teachers would mutter in their dirty cardigan slippers. Hellish wires escalated from the eighteen seventy five dark-skinned notebooks. There goes the trouble again, he thought in a thick Scottish accent as he held down the pen. He did all he could through the touching and breathing years, the scattering of mentors was his own gun metal opportunity. All one could do was marvel at the poles.

                Did you witness the fissure's longing? He witnessed the fissure's pretence as if it were a mime act performed verbatim. The sea recurs. The listener came. The bleak prophecy came out through mortal remains. He had a poet for a heart, an awareness that moved like a stiffening bendy straw. That's a French boudoir for you, that's a windmill blemish. He suckled from the very foodstuff of Heracles, of Hecate and of all the other miserable sand dune agendas.