Intoxicated by coffee. Exasperated by Masturbation. Exasurbated by mastication, and stopped and choked, by doing it all too often.  Sausage fingers jittery for an itchless neck.

Tasty, itchy.

I put a protein bar that I will never actually eat in my desk drawer.

I think it is softly romantic.

The mirror glares and thinks toward my hair, which I hold with spray adhesive.

I've been resolved by a revolver.

I think we're all desensitized.  

It doesn't matter what you tell people, they will always stick to their guns

I glare into the mirror: What a thoughtless commentary.

The black letter L is still visible on my forehead.

My eyes self-deploy.

So light, but so heavy.

My visage is in an aboriginal decay of white, flaking, marble.

I am the soul of a Diane Arbus portrait that was never conceived.

I'm wearing 9 pairs of paper denim jeans.  I want to be told by someone that
they want my bad, fat, ass.

Your body may be a temple, but mine is a Shirley Temple,

And my two personalities cannot argue with each other anymore.

Much energy afforded to my prerequisite.  Lacrimosal idiom.

Everything is so personalized now, especially our delicious under-the-sink poisons.

You can force this intermission by adding my address, examining the 

Packaging, taking the hair sample.  Better late than ever.

My mannequin is set in 'Moonwalk' position.


You're saying something very inherently and distinctly Japanese.

If your car isn't new, then you're a FATTY.


I am very insane, but never insane enough to be locked up anywhere.

If you want to fix something easy, fix yourself.

No respect for the SHITTERS.

Alos.Arvhic.

We'll be bitchin' and be stitchin' and tichen!

They will all go to Hello Kitty and back.

I like the simple, sterile, digital life.

I practice safe eating by using condiments every time.

The bevy of data before me, the imaginary I.

We all have mannequins designed for us.

I fell down and hit my head on love.

You're my crinkle cut french fry.

The connection has been reset.









I hear sweet music from the Large Soft Cracker Co., across the highway, from my house.

You're my crinkle cut french fry.

I message Michi the Fender a.k.a. "ThePlague"  Beth Lane CHiCHi interstellar gestapo on the inter net messenger.

I fell down and hit my head on love.

The aria must flow within the area.

I will accept you for you, even though the doors and things creak a bit, and

The cats commit scratching noises and taps and clicks.  The little noises.  Little noses.

They are the most maddening,  Thunder I can handle.



It doesn't matter when you arrive, you will always decline.

For this, and other things, I epitomize the decline of society.

"I'm all ears!" and by that I mean that I am a figure who is made from purely, entirely. all ears in a living room
somewhere.

I invent a new language, called Arabic.

I wait in line for the escalator, endlessly, counting my watch hands, because everyone is entitled.

And my two personalities cannot argue with each other anymore.

I open my large bag of chicken puffs.

Your body may be a temple, but mine is a Shirley Temple.

Everything is so personalized now, especially our delicious under-the-sink poisons.

Merry Christmas.  I received a card as well as a generous supply of Pig butter.

The aria must flow within the area.

My mannequin is doing the moonwalk.

The connection has been reset.


I will accept you for you, unless your hair is unkempt, your teeth aren’t white, 
your clothes aren’t label, your car isn’t modern, you’re fat, 
you’re moderately in shape, aren’t a super model, aren’t moderately wealthy, 
It is embarassing to be driving below the influence.

I am very insane, but never insane enough.

If you want to fix something easy, fix yourself.

Solemnity no more, down sizzle chips bacon .. McGee.





You're saying something very inherently and distinctly Japanese.

I can’t make the shit up, but I stire the shit. Up.