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Monday, November 23, 2009

The problem with this is...

Is no matter how much you try to be good and impeccable in that Casteneda way, it's always a matter of hours and minutes missed

No matter how good you are, the confluence of remarked shit is going to overtop the real deal of little smile cumulating in the lee of shadows

You'll count the cuntery of spines and swords cutting large and forget the small flowers of little happenstance

Mainly because they are diesel engine down with iron pipes riveted by chip and fish eating salt and vinegar of the earth

So, lawn middle class type, you bend under the thrown up mores of ideas less fucked and warm

And forget it's ok to say that this, the fire in grate, and steam black certainty is good enough

Fuck your stirring of the glass

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