25/05/2013 - THE DAUNTLESS THANK YOU

                The dauntless thank you and cherished warning of critical damage. It breaks the muster and infers the impact, like carnage in fellas. It could just be enough time to hurt the big metal man, maybe long enough to burn a hole through his middle quiver.  Wait a go, puppy helmet, wait a bugle-picking minutia! What happened to the peel that was promised? All the peel and not just the rind. Floating along the Venice depository? That can't be foreclosure. Spidery left hands are working against the edge of my reverberating soul. Long hair is a massive trouble for me when Ragnarok slams down. It slams down every month or so, though without intention or marvellous pastrami. It's a dark place to be a homosexual train wreck at the heart of an empire. The biggest stardust comes from the apocalyptic ovals. Time to make love with the ego and it's shoddy messiah.

                It's a numbing composition when it comes down to the pallid monstrosity and it's tendency to harp on about comic elocution. I'll wait in the sky as the other ones come down to grace us with their worthwhile telltale usury. They tell me it's snarling at the damp doorways of boogie procedure. The only way out is to tie one's shoelace and back away from the elf's emblem. You can tell from the guitars that this will become a destined night of romping patter cake. I do hope this isn't a case of holding onto unascertained background theology because I'll go right now and row with the snout of the songwriter. One quick punch at it goes out for coffee and a fleeting handshake. It's similar to a solvent, a seeded pretension where the cabaret bars close before the children set out to fight. My orange highlighter is at one point and my sensibilities are at another. Which will collide with the matador first? The electrocution is a collaboration for this gargled soul that sits at the heart of my palm.

                Follow the pigmy the right way and you'll probably never turn back for cocktails or transfusions. Never need no nincompoops to tally the trifles with the tape measure. It all tangles my feet anyway. Doing it was probably a fallacy in my light bulb brain. Perhaps we should bring it back! Perhaps! Zap! It could take a tickle with it for the long haul. I sincerely hope that respect hasn't quite come to that yet. I haven't even worn my Palaeolithic shoes yet. The shysters will get a real show before the opening act encapsulates the evening with a paragraph. The letter is fussy and its columns just prolong the aptitude beyond necessary parameters. Calculus is very peculiar when one thinks about it. Why make hands flicker just to be certain about amounts and travesties. Chaos deserves its pudding and we're depriving it throughout this palace. Behold the pickled jars as the gospel choir bops along to the rhythm of a deadened water droplet symphony. Going the whole whore hasn't even stopped being a thing yet.