mixolydian333
And the shards of the brilliant lunar eclipse rained down on the family of dutchesses, releasing their fears through prayers and their exploitation of the adhesive properties of chainsaws. "Science? I am made of science, fool!" shouted one as she took a leap through sixty feet of air, passing on before she hit the ground.
Mean, average. "Swallow the birds," said the salesman in his lonely cubicle with ice floating everlastingly about the pupils of his eyes. "I can't hear your thoughts on this clear summer morning."
But there was nothing to hear, only the chirping of buildings' death-ray windows and the silence of a glaring foreheard jutting out into the intersection of thought and the zoo.
"I'm afraid your readers are on fire, sir," announced the shamrock's eighteenth birthday.
"Return the call with one from my own pocket," responded the sir.
Needless to say, many angry sentences reared their ugly faces and nine pregnant miles of pure saliva and anarchy eliminated the need for consciousness.
For we are human beings; these are but shells.
Human beings.
Octopus, since when, your plural is so evasive. Is it octopuses? Octopi? Octopodes? Whatever the proper, you hold a special place in my heart, which you inhabit mercillesly, like a neverending storm of fire and also squirrels. Creeping along the sea floor inside of a magazine cover, hand-in-hand with the sultan of a far-off district of a country of sand of scorpions of fatal poison.
writing since 2010 · 4 entries · 4 days shown up
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firehandsirhumanbeingshearscienceoctopuspluralevasiveoctopusesoctopioctopodeswhateverproperhold