Creative spectic. Apologies for not writing, nights too hectic. Knights too romanticnetric. Necromantic and then I came skin-and bonesing into your fragile domiciled entityentic. Hate prolific because Love no longer online with me to handle what became a handler’s standard for brain-mechanic-tantric banter. I’ve never been to Confessional or Mass by choice, what’s the use, I don’t partake in sacrifices of patricians out of patriotic pent up paternal pessimism. When weeks get taken off, alliteration arises like University of Phoenix from the phire, save the saph and staph infections fire but no ire or no longer with no tonsils to be infected. Affected as in aforementioned illness of you to me and say, I can see what you have planned in pondering next moves of rivals, conference calls that never evolve as I revolve around the arena of competition. Stability of inhibition gets you no further than nowhere, where you started and I started to enter the online-bloggy Mexico City smoggy nature of writing. If you can call this that, call me what you wish to, because I take names like, “trite, contrived and redundant” and render my drums to a positive beat that hears, “might, thrived and abundant” of energy that biochemical cough that stemmed from stammering when you should have been hammering to excel from my infancy to toddlerdom to childhood, teenage angst, young adult to this “man” thing to the geriatric, “where am I” gymnastics or otherwise frantic nature immediately preceding Heaven or
Oh hell! What have you done now? Short sentences? Those won’t do. These educated folks like the long-lipped cat-callers. Longer the better with this crew. Is this the same week? How does this paragraph relate to the first? Better find a way to relate paragraph one and two in three. Quickly. Suffering.
The in-between. The purgatorious glorious. No, no, notorious small satiable stagnant simultaneous satirical sycophantic came befores, come to bring you smiles, I try, but not working no matter the try guy swell shy Bry why I throw “swell” in a high-brow eye line, er, lined with beauty but unaligned with mine shine moon time, she never came after so she never came over again. All the come-durings, scores of cussing hordes swore me a bore, arduous chores with spoiled gore and whore-boiled eggs before chickens cracked and piped, “Please. No more.”
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