Practice #1since I've come to certain realizations about the scum skin phonetic alphabet adored as commmerative family relations between the forms of man, who may be considered to be creatures of shoulders and thumbs, desire eyelids avoiding darkness and brains controlled by the obsessive need to make off with the torch they used to guide them here, I am confident in the pronoun smash procedure where the she's of he's become the eating utensils for a better version of mankind, and not just, the procedure leave many just as they are, slaves to the emotionless button response of cavity cleaning, I can see the double nature that has evolved into the foreskin quadruple bypass that you are unable to commit to everytime you find pleasure, when you gobble down your own follies of your favorite insurrections, moments you discuss in comfort of light, I am talking to you as he is talking to me, I carry the torch that is fastened to the wall of your object doubting habits, with hairy spots on your eyes, for the beauty of your parents nightmares.
the problem when it comes down to it, is the guilded crust that you strive to polish, and sell to me and sell to them or anyone with the coin craft particular to your inferior taste game banter, I'm here to witness the illness with which you carry you're sagging souls,
the homosexual war machine should not surprise you,
the difference between the favorite horse of your youth on the farm, the dreams your mother forced you to have to apply yourself, and the bullets and bombs you pay for is nill, you, the love making waste hair styled mongrel are the real enemy, the dream is over, the striving of skills that they trained you is now the very crassness you seek to stop through the amplification of your behavior codenamed on your chest. I am in the clear because i can see the strips of cable laid, I know the coordinates, you are everywhere else besides where you need to be, I've got eyes instead of hands and hands where my ancestors lie years into the future still. Greasey waste lick purchasing power is all you crave, even your degenerate friends are only out for kill, great for him, put it in his sweating wallet, but when the pole is driven through your efforts that is really or corporal head, the blood and cream which may spew out will only be as useless as your favorite beloved march you step, with purple and yellow feathers, on top of central burial grounds of the upward mystical reality missed, like gloves on the gardener, my hands are in the earth's soil, I'd only be jealous of you if you said the same to me, through which my legs are the flippers of the continental drift,
