The earthbound flea will heed no predilections. New theories that generate many newer branches of discursion can more easily be supported. Yet the butterflies themselves are the sparkling eels whose gleaming fire so easily divides. Where color adheres, there shall be no salvation.
Nevertheless, individuals treat beatification as something only used during emergency imprisonment. Those who are close to leaving the work force may be prepared enough emotionally to leave fortifications behind for now. When credentials march, the software of time breeds contempt, though the latest protest in the gentle uprising against the assumption has been invaluable.
Nevertheless, individuals treat beatification as something only used during emergency imprisonment. Those who are close to leaving the work force may be prepared enough emotionally to leave fortifications behind for now. When credentials march, the software of time breeds contempt, though the latest protest in the gentle uprising against the assumption has been invaluable.
Nice tongue, Petey. I look forward to further discursions of your assumptions regarding beatification and the predilection to salvation.
ReplyDeleteIf ever imprisoned, I shall use the sparkling eels of beatification to brighten the cell with clouds of liquid purple tree trunks and golden-rust knees. And if the masters of formaldehyde wish to join me in the murky software of contemptuous behavior, then usher them in on the wings of swordfish.
ReplyDeleteYet, the answer to this theory and other questions asked by the African dung-beetle are kept within the oracle rock made of chewed McDonald's straws resting noisily by Puerto Rican garbage cans made of silk.
ReplyDeleteApologies to all for not replying sooner. My locus has mated with fat yellow-bellied peaches and all were swollen with shame in an errant fistula.
ReplyDeleteWhen I managed to escape, humiliating Berliners (in the Kennedy sense) prevented retrospection.
A pox on the populi who suck comb to their delusions of gran marnier! Tis a gran moll, cesar. Yea, as I run through the jungle of peerless platitudes, let me not face plant upon the won ton plateaux of pulchritudinous platelets...
ReplyDeleteYoke shorn peccadillos careening wildly off the gloat, long and low, though captured by the fresco of effluencing cowplop it is wasted, but not by the flatulent monks, wroth and pale, caught up in bat shaped webs of induction crying out for their pseudopoded fungi. With every loaf they will be broken. The Winnow knows.
ReplyDelete