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Monthly Archives: December 2012

I long for placement, and I splurge on credits that earn access to godlike hardware, but I only dream up scenery with marginal ethics luring a pixelated anti-hero into a gorgeous nothing, and she fossilizes load bearing curiosity, yet I use wardrobes derived from the present season, and I organize mined feelings of guilt into a neutral personality for cultural approval, but I estrange myself, and I break down her illness for a quicker prophecy, while curtains unveil on irregular schedules, and I just want a pillow, but I exile common affective garbage, and I need fluctuating sanity to offset endless layers of basic repetition.

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I stay upside down, and I bind hoaxes to metronome ancestry, yet I fondle statistical outliers, and her tailoring abilities wash clean quickly, but my intestines declare stories of another kind, and I imagine every tongue at once, while editing the novel, and I fold pleated garments, and I debate a killer’s emotional trigger, but they keep staring, and I convince my limbs to portray again, while detention is served by sexuality, and I regurgitate cultural hesitancy, but I lie upon axioms in the winter season, and I dress like a coffee table maker when the occasion is right, yet her stride is precarious, and I tap a finagled guest.

I exit a studio with contraptions in hand, and I gauge where to battle against penance, but she twiddles fairly during midnight hours, while I cue instigative plots to show my love, and I deface concrete tunnels, yet I am addicted to handles, and her will is erect, and I ask the future about its weaknesses, and I insult cafe bickering near motif ladened artifacts.