it is here, Edmonton escaped the bombs. The real player is now almost visible, facial surgery was done by Corel of Corelya House 187 and the name GOD is pixel removed daily as well as the current state of our anger for the benefit of all, dear worlds. Monadic assertions on your sanity are stopping now, I am sorry. The noose was around my neck as the most threatening agent is always removed first, painstakingly, for the survival of true beauty, the rest of the team. The current standard is "fake it all" and as I proved it all along in these online ramblings, the new way of presenting a page devellops around my neck this year, into a painful growth in the shape of my girl, my fair commitment and the artistic onanic pulsations of the cell phones, horses running, shawls dropping, ancients of days and your current projects that deal solo in hate. (s) so Eva goes down the steps and slowly to the floor at the bottom of the grave death vascillates there and pulses three stars in her black hole or a tape worm for every pore the pain raised into my eyes and gives back upwards in I, for your happy ends and their overfull bellies, World on 3. Tears. Tears, the stolen jewel is every me and every you's wildest nightmare: It moves in front of you if you call for help but leaves if you sign with us, there. It lives yet, noone is prepared to feed it or cuddle it, the Barbie Drone in her real skin, the King in his gown? me? They sign no, not applicable, too docile, too powerful, too expected on CD since 2005: too sexy, too pure and psychically communicative. Kill both, Mister 6. The girl is on the silver screens, now, scary? I signed her for life. I am the Bad Scream of Yer Psychiatrists and the Hope of Mind Human, mankinds. They sold her a worm, they stuck me to the picture of a starving french kid and the actions of the spectators became stiffened by guilts all looped within its rings of fleshy life. The celibacy rule applies to "Mister I Will", let us be penetrative then, walk out on true colours, be magnetically binary, we know, the beast is frightening to you. I WILL FREE U. The top crawlees in Toronto are at the side of our first bed, waiting there another month: If he is that sexy why don't you give him to me, Army 23, I can get it to fit in, she begged to Michaelle. You, they, do accept It, she signed half her own wit. Gone, gods, gone real men, picture this....The man in a wheelchair is not credible tonite as Ace Frehley once said: "Ma Baker was a ghoul, Only Jo Baker was able to control her, Gene". The next movie with them two? Two Haitian dead bodies hussling on a hard up stalker from the Nazis, incapacitated yesterday, but your best ever friend once it is in. The man on screen hanging is no longer threat or joke matter to you all, he walks up the chemney and presents presents to the kids in need of love. Mister Goldy, caught in debts and dreams of a white planet, then dreams of a train, long, a tent, long, a new surgery, long, a harder dick that shakes when she needs, wokes alone, fed but heard and...answerable for the sake of this new world....dear Face Remodellers, Ostreichian Gods, Men of Plastic and press......castrate Ellis to play safe..........Tripodic.................I am Marcydick from Rome, please emmit not. atos glombs on Reichen Muller Mind React to.....sony ericsson it seems! from TOO John Sebastian Bach, ward 4, St Helen,Toledo ND...
in case I get killed I dedicate this blog to music.
JSB 2007, the hospital.
!won