22/09/2013 - MAGIC WORK

Magic work, shiny nipple, wrongdoing, overstayed staying over, wasps, sketch notes, sketched notes, notable sketches, assistants, assistance, funny bouncers, choreography, goodness, gravy, cruelty, dirty pool. The monster keeps on coming and has just adopted a hat for a thousand political deals, not even the whimsy can hold me down, let alone protect me. Snoring happens around people and you become indivisible pie charts. The galaxy shakes at the colours and dipping lines. So many troughs caused by abrupt rehashes without the conduct of a polite audience. It is drawers. It is becoming. It is the bomber’s breakfast at the Normal Bay. Replacements just keep coming in.

So much halfway prescription to the callout, visions curl and darling goes crazy. She is a lamb she has a helm on her colouring book. Take away the audio, strip it and all will bode well. Madness is production signing like a cow in coolers and weird crystals percolating. The field goes left and the north goes right and the whittling waits and pauses and mugs its way out of boredom. Shucks. I need to go rethink the worth from coming back to awesome hills and fandangos that rely there. None of the above becomes wizened but some of them turn me into a dirty fluke. Flying grabs the scratches and kills me now and holes snap back and forth and couple themselves with the rest of the top five.

The gum gun gurney garner massive lupine drooping is usually red and white and tastes like spearmint. Why was she in the morning? It goes out for regardless money and sells shirts for discount furry banknotes. Don’t let us be silly and stratified, don’t elope. It turns me temporal. Give bravery time to suck away the red from the Redhead Inc. Sharpen the prequel while you’re at it, it’ll kill the live action. At least on a simple basis, the nightmare envelopes a soapbox like a duck in the night and stands by it with perfection and minimal corny shots. It rocks with long overdue captivity. Could be a good idea, could be a very good idea for January’s backburner. This moment turns me into a fabulous hammer stretching out the red memory of a fast and famous affectation. It fits me into a drastic core, flopping around with the final edit. Renting, watching, sliding, crusting, blazing, tuning, telling, welling, echoing, clasping acoustics with their own damnable patterns.

You hear that? It’s a karaoke model zipping past the mischief cheekbones. The only screen that transforms is a marching order pounded out of squishy newness. It communicates my shame with big hand gestures, broad hair flicks and lip pouts. The patchwork matches are intercut with interrelated incestuous bed boards, very cinematographic. It defiles the camel technique with medium-edged metallurgy. Could we sell out the cell out of young gradient. Metacrisis. Graduates will back me up on this one, expression is hard for the girl behind me. Women are no longer safe from the process all over again.