I both feel and reek the aroma of a quarter arcade deep in Nevada or some other...it's strange...and i don't even believe in the word. Fluke? No no sir.
So many articles have come to publish, ones of adventure and exploration. But whatever...yesterday's news is today's tumble weed, kicked up by nostalgic pedestrians like autumn leaves.
It's repulsive, it's demanding to step backwards on the staircase. You see, people milling about, you see confusion, humans one foot to the next, sitting and slouching, magnets pulling them everywhere and nowhere on the same second and I begin to wonder if someone has written about this this this and me and you.
Strangers chasing their shadows under the harvest moon.
Streetlamps and rooftops. Hello nice to meet you!
Today, the hours of perceived consciousness...uhh...an imagination that me's been wondering where it's taken it's vacation...contractions amuck! The imagination...how grand, when in fact here before his eyes it's been with him, because he is a faint pigment and pixelated into 8 bit abstractions? His imagination is still here and there. He pretends to be something every day and that prints the receipt of imagination.
Alas, a stench from the litter box! Jostle my senses.
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