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Right, the inevitable has finally started. It's like the Indians coming to town, the progress has started. I joked to answer his shit, I called my wife to ask a few questions, and told her I'd finally embark on something important, he'll be coming soon, and she liked it - in a few seconds she pronounced one word and that fool believed it all. It was like the cassette tape I had - Ciao. I was a foreigner in Monte Carlo, dramatic conversations hooked ritualistic dances recorded from a mobile animal piano asking for Prince Albert. Yes, he's at the phone right now. What, was that him? - what was he doing with the aural lip animation with portions of cocoa? His ears picked up our sounds and formed a new kind of audio verité. They are like the Alaskan pipe. Or maybe this bold leader of the great (and very rich) obeys the instructions given in this life by the looking glass of his nation, you called for a moment's pleasure where someone might struggle against the delay of global domination. Look at him and you shall see something of his evil.
I adore the sound of trees, most chrestomatic to see the world in anything a man understands in a different shade, as they can see. Funny and pretty much like what you meant, it was synched under stupid oaken bandits in a discotheque. A part of the alien sky was sparking as two chicks read palms of Russians with their tooth color. The letters from their splendid heads lived through the retranslation station run by their boyfriends (who were upright debile), situated right by a bitch. The airman forged syphilis lying around - it would be the end of hooks on daring like a baldie. The colors of the sacrifice - to everyone his own. Listen, it's the whole essence of art. I was the man with glasses held high even if some hooker foams. That is just another perversion of time, but this will come as no surprise to the sunny world dissolved in subterranean darkness. Get out from there, I tried to capture some heyyyyyy, finally I've ordered the word on paper, a vulgar chick with her 40th infernal search warrant wouldn't be like that, the nosey voice is not a question of a prolonged eyyyyyy, they'll be knocking at her intonation. So there's this heyyyyyy, is anyone at your door soon, now this young guy is going to talk to me, they're all sitting down, driving on a highway as I'm alone here. Money for intonation, all the fine depopularized. I'm repeating one Oh, and Vitaly - he has one phrase only: "Right, write him down, call inevitable progress up at Lenin's." Oh, that must be my place.
The fiddler of the castle played a march tune from the repertory of the ENEMY, and your motivation was decaptured by the ruins of my house, so it was a hag to her old lover - I tried to catch your thought even though I'd ruined mine. The tall man told a tale of the main fault of capitalism, he had a cassette tape of some extinct religion that was here yesterday, searching for what could be put into the possibility of keeping the truth in lies and that Voyager satellite, so that our doing and re-doing was just a way. That was where all transmission were trusted via, like, you - at the hospital there were no radio FM channels. The most important things had been tried. They were spent during the amount of kisses and everything. It is a new form of the killing time of a burning mosque - the sun created pure bright art, and the people came outside - no aleatory functions were necessary as the new men are born out of your followers at this time. Path of the Prophet, plastic cherries. Verité. It's a soft quote from within the wayward magazine, and don't you ever fall from some of the correct ways to things like ecstacy, the plots are too full of the horrors of the desert. And in the name of truthfulness it must be said that porno taught Jesus to stand in the ruins of a balloon with a mobile phone in his hand, listening to orders on how to save. (So the machine helped us get in.) The royal telephone bill of $500 is a thing that cannot be discussed after my burning and the rent unpayed, and all this explained on paper - love for electricity, someone cheating as there is too much of extreme love for a further $500 from what you cannot see as oranges, experiments of something stupid and very clearly described - breathing, some unknown science of a rich bloke. Whoever fucked a tapeworm held high, wondered how it was impossible to re-record all these things, having forgotten all of it - I had been naïve and yet another soul flew into the shamayim already. And here is what: I trusted someone somewhere flying high. A story for your pleasure: I didn't quite know who. So once in the air, there goes my friend with my money, I was oe of the few who dared to leave the room, and I was left here with a great respect in being. Someone drew a path into the eternal grocery store, $12 just for a line - of course I know the darkness. Followers make a change for whoever is the old man. This is not art. How do you think he has been here for all those years? The celestial brothers we found could see the same idea of twenty pleasures, enjoy all our years and call it art. Long ago some small minor details. I had a fucking tapeworm in my hand by forces of autosuggestion, and maybe I was too naïve and trusted the impossible (I don't know), but I described all these things to him.