Mmmmm....M.I.L.K.
...a good way to bag?...what's left of the ICE-ING?...Then again, there's always the lock step keep up plan...having it all. All is well. All is normal. Fabulous. Tommy Cash Crowns for all, a fine day for tapestry parallels, like that of a gridding. It's all so...soveriegn-looking, like a mirror gorilla-glued to the ol' asshole. Mirror mirror...on the? Tonight, live (for your awareness, of course)...on the television.
Not to worry keep it tight, everything is fine...
...there's always that little ray of hope...a new wellspring of lover tits delight...It's just so...physical...It's okay...she can work it out. Maybe it's time to open shop? I wonder how it all ends...all is well, that...??? That paper in the little shop...Total Eclipse!...Stay safe darlings, on this finely adorned lock-step ship...waters for those who even dare to jump, the tick-tock crocodile lurks...Killing Moon Time for those who d.a.r.e....I wonder. Of course, I remember of a distant time hearing about a tale....I think it was called Bananarama and the Venus snatch attack...like a dick caught up in an acid bath? It's hard to recall...something like that...how to remember....oh plutus....Too many bags...so many bagged....but wasn't the ship a safehouse of sorts, no? Oh Captain, My Captain? (Totally about the president) The 5th Ave crowed was just so much smarter...I mean when the IQs have it...banagrams anyone? Wait a second...Banagrams....banaram.....maybe there's a link somewhere, here or there. Fertile crescent, crescent city...it's a small world...I mean when moving the pieces...at least a family unit would assure...of course when your in this before you can even have a full grasp of the language...not even beyond toddler years...he laughs too hard...get him...hug and jerk the hair...if possible, have the kids fuck each other, but that abortion? treatments...we need treatments, for her condition within him...we need a lad...his tendencies...he can't get away with murder with these tendencies...we need normal and HAPPY...I mean when all of these fine matters were having their go at one in such a way to WIN it all...by all means dirt empire...bodies in the mirror on the Hollywood romance plan....pretend. Do whatever you like. Have your time in the mirror loves. The art is fraud crowed, unenthused of this new era post-80s-early 90s, by the numbers, niche internet superstars inc. among Americans as a North Korean goosestep, THESE ARTISTS, have checked out as you check everything in. Could we be losing? I mean, who could possibly play the players of such a victorious system. IQ anyone? I mean the starfish industrialist likes to have that go as the inside, so have at it. Eat your cake and fuck it too. Be a doll face. Be that kill of the bee sting with honey. You are all doing such a fabulous job. Really just running the show perfectly aren't we? I mean the sycophants you line up got your back. Again, pretend. And well there is Jordan and expensive hair cut dropping by. What could this be?
ART......on the way.
Key: Espresso, Express-Oh, Tick-Tock, Knife-Gun goes the clock...Alice and the Wonderland...maybe she's in it, quick, someone dial-up Oedipus. Find Zeus and Rhea's family photo book. Take a picture. Run the frames. Hollywood Romance. Plastic Pyramid. She-Wolf Teat. Teat Party. Sparkle tit. Spark. Light up the night sky. It looks so nice. Who doesn't want to play? Aren't we all just the same? It's just a game. Pick a card, any card...at the table, unbirthday? Grinning mad. It looks so nice. I mean, when blood money cleaning inc...is flowing so well. It's all so sanitized, the look. That play of psychology. I mean, he's nice. We're nice. All is nice. Nice as ICE. ICE-ING. Just play nice in the sandbox...and this wonderland can all be yours. Who doesn't like a Red rose? Wake up...smell the beautiful roses. To change color, a changing light will greet you unexpectedly. Shhh...this can all be yours. You passed the test, now, our empowered one, just follow our instructions, and all will work out just fine. We respect you entirely. You are just like us. Doesn't it "feel" nice to associate with us? Now be a good little pawn and run our hit, clean our money, float our insurance fraud, create pretty little things for tax evasion, take pictures, watch tv, and shine in the mirror. We love you. To fight for belonging. All you have to do is play nice in the sandbox...A quitter can win and a winner can quit. It's okay. Reside on the ship, safe and sound...the ticket just keeps selling...oh, captain, my captain? This life, among the dead on their way to victory. Bravo.
And remember kiddies when you are entirely fucked, safe and sound on that ship, don't forget, put a cross on it, a little as I lay dying play, walk, smile, embrace all that is mirror, mirror, existence before, language anyone? That's okay, incessant pawn hits will get you started...That 5th Ave bus ride. It all just meant...so much...I mean, when you're on the files and it's a small world, mirror, mirror, electrify. It's the inside on the outside that couldn't possibly be the inside....possibly maybe? I mean, surely that isn't going to blow up in everyone's faces. It's so nice to be surrounded by such...intelligence. Bana-RAMS anyone? Oh wait, that's right, my poor memory fails me again...Bananagrams. It's BaNANa-Grams. NYC as a simulacra of itself. It's amazing. That's how we make it in this world.
You're so nice. I'm so nice. NICE. Where's New York? Don't be shy. Just thinking of the times when American pop culture had ancient theme throughout...then we went to by the numbers...seems like the American people are in-need of a lesson similar to Europe, a violent fall of sorts...to even the stakes, and I mean that ancient play. It is brilliant. Epstein islands Inc. can help. I mean to catch strategic matters up, what's a girl to do, other than, do as you say. As long as matters look democratic, matters can be thoroughly gutted, no? Who could really highlight such matters, especially a lowly pauper such as myself. And it still seems, I need material frame to "make it in this world" just ask the pawn play, the youth needing their in-road to "success," they intend on running up on me, because naturally with a pauper there is this entitled disposition, no need for respect, just have that go when the window opens up. To strive to become that man of the world, under Aphrodite Urania...earth an moon, fish flying high to the sky... I mean, when we can live it up, addicted, Darwinian wasps for all. American Idol Baby! And I mean, again, a pauper, of a particular mind, not for long, stack the pawns, who needs to follow when it's nice shit for good behavior. Gun for the master. Just bask in the light. The ever-changing, visible light. How lovely. Things are always looking so bright. Meanwhile...Who needs to give a fuck when you can look like you give a fuck...never "seen" that one before. Mindfuck contradiction anyone? Surely not one catches on. America will learn it's lesson the hard way. Tis the season, no? I mean let's be clear, there is an ancient network that can bring down any society it pleases, once the hands are on the right levers of course. Let's not pretend. Ancient themes on the radio, no more...who needs good writing when synthetic nothing visuals adorn the cinema screen...I wonder where this could be headed.
And when the pauper aims upon successful entry, to fail the test strategically...That's right, quick, everyone, the table of earthly goods is set, for which the treatment will be justified, oh my! This ever-changing visible light...I wouldn't find any measure of antagonism or hatred for such matters. There are responsibilities certainly, but the way in which the light has changed among the United States...that trajectory, among the harmonies that contextualize space that color a blue sky. Ancient themes exiting...Must it be this way? And the internet...a lot of news, a lot of porn, a lot of face time, a lot of mirror, mirror. In terms of violence, in terms of tracking, in terms of breaking down American Democracy, it does seem like a lucrative bunny machine...switch of agency, that tacit form of environmental ordering that initiates the language we use itself...no longer a meeting of the mind first and foremost, just dichotomies in the mirror, disregarding dichotomy sandwiches, bunny blood machine rolling, pick the one on the margin, push them harder, enlist into blood money for laundering floats inc...it's all about the body in the mirror, no grater good other than embodied performance deemed good or bad by a cosmetic authority's group sentiment...the panel before the American Idol...no longer of citizenry, but a switch of agency, a switch of psychology, the new citizen goosesteps for a particular form that upon a societal grounding, into group sentiment, among layers of written record, we all follow what will happen to that society. Ring around the rosy...something ashes...something all fall down.
I mean, to dance around a rose painted red...pocket full of THOSE posies. Who couldn't resit? Hang a cross and gun, baby. No consequences there at all. Aphrodite Urania is going to just LOVE you straight to that justified hell, evening the stakes with America. It's a shame what's happening to America...let's see...getting rid of an American passport...the pauper is failing, oh my! I'm at a loss...I wonder what's happening...he's so nice...oh captain, my captain...it's just so...wisdom beyond me...never a play that plays the player. All work in such a predictable fashion....who could resist not playing nice in the sand box...when it's this fine moment to shine.
Like I said, as a kid I stole the offering at the church to hold matters hostage..one of the Chruch ladies new me...she got it. She kept up with the money. I wanted to sit out on the lawn and enjoy nature. I wasn't into being canned tuna on the pew...she wasn't exactly at a loss for what I desired, which certainly wasn't the norm. And I mean, surely to be at the top of your class...that couldn't possibly be a trap either. To be on your way...in this fucked up world...hold me up, hold me down...amazing. Dial up Aphrodite Pandemos...get the bubble machines...we can live it up like sea foam. Can you feel the love?
And okay, okay, it's true, I must admit....I do love a hairy ass. I just can't help myself. It's like straights on the mommy complex plan...but I mean, if we resist...and pretend...if we stop playing with shadows...I mean the gates will open for all, because that is totally going to fucking workout for those in power? Plus, I mean, solve the puzzlebox...I think of hell raiser, this asshole with the red dress, and let's not forget the art of the big dawg in the mirror... CEO, President, Judge anyone...surely no one is on the other line...oh, captain, my captain? You wanted to play...guess the family unit, being as smart as they are, set you up. They are all very nice....Niiice...drawn out like a southern belle. Rhea into Demeter, Swan into Titties (ugly duckling and Norma Jean need not apply)...Something about Hot Wax and a Candle in the Wind...and the wind of origin...
What's in the bag? Get it today!
