All aboard... the soul chewing train. Train your brain to chew your soul. It's so chewy. So soulfully chewy. Chunky. Steak and potatoes. Eat it with a knife and fork. Carnivate your soul. For UnCarnal Knowledge.
So, it sounds like something that meant one thing one time. That thing I forgot. Spoiled ironies. Dried to husks. Pointless to harvest. Like dust. So, emote about being a mote. Sound like fucking kansas for a moment. WTF is with that moment? Let's mosey on. I'll see myself out. Take myself to the woodshed. Waiting on a rewatch of mad men episodes by Matt Lieb.
Sigh, groan, at what live serves up to me. To us, I can include others. Try to enjoy black humour. Really, try harder. Try before you why. Why nothing, just try to appreciate some aspect of the horror show. Even though the share price of poetry has plummeted again. It's not good enough to be bad even. Bad hasbra. Low value man and woman. Synthetic testerone could be rivalled by lab-made ampethamine class prodrugs.
Fit to be tied. Fit for a substack. Adrift in the vast sea of the market economy. Paddle to the sea, yo. Shock humour of 1999. What's that worth?
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