I publish arrogance, but I lock up too many fears in a xenophobic spell, and I notice myself yearning for the subtle angle in your elbow, while you browse a local newspaper, though I am shy, and I would definitely yield to a higher order, if it propagated immanence, but I love her, yet I cast off an immature drug to find other external machinery for aiding in expeditions via our psychotic genome, while I bet on crayon landscapes, and I rush towards barely perceptible data, that she forgot, as the winds picked up, and I barter for the antithetical headquarters, yet I know not how much, though I can numb doubt temporarily, and I split off into a divided imitation of myself, but I trust rear view mirrors, and I fall prey to consumerist fetishism during unannounced invasions, and I am nervous to touch her, but I stare into paisley blessed vinyl, while I categorize decor to avoid a meltdown, and the slogans are gradually approximating room temperature.