Transquigglify

It's hard to mean much in these 2013 times in this post when exgfs filter into most dreams, foisting ghostly schemes on me, disquieting in their disparate personalities running togetherness like mercury in the molten cauldron the t-1000 dissolved in at the end of the movie. But it doesn't end, it just keeps roiling and boiling.

Paragramellaton with jujill jastars and jessuckle masteteaser. Refrain. Versefrain. Chorus pour. A tempo con Migo. O it's a bitter vitamin pill. I need a woman like a fish needs a monocle probably but I miss the ones I used to have in my life, especially the one quite recently, a real woman's woman, or womon she might say, and paint, with oils.

But let's get back to me, cause that's really what this blog's all about and we wouldn't want to stray too far from our mandate with myself, would the royal we? No.

Me's not so much a we, wheezing dreams in which only certain things happen out of all earthly possibilities. I miss things that have already distorted in my memories.