Crust on a shelf and slender sleeks glide across the carpet floor. Chirpy down into the boil of gleaming, here lies the notice; short and sharp. For there is no point in dragging along a dead body, not any more.
Suffer this the pain of existence, keeping to the bare minimum and finding a path clear enough through the brush to render a slate worth keeping heads high into the sulphur.
Heat drives the machine what frays the wires of the floor underneath. Electricity blows a fuse to never quite rival the disgust and utter lack of respect chipping away at the ceiling and falling bricks to sirens.
Dead inside, dead outside, there's a lounge setting waiting for another afternoon of wasting away the day into night. And even then, never to understand the compulsion of jabbing eyelids with thorns made prickly jagged with salt and pepper.
Friday, 9 February 2007
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Elemunk scrambles the loose connections bouncing about the mind of Soon Van.
Feel free to ask questions on any topic. Or spend some quality killswitch time poking about reading the vintage synapses
Or maybe a torrid trail of job interviews?
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Kiss of a burning flame full of desire