Untitled from Thisishimthisishe on Vimeo.
Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. I’m so foreign to myself as to make making me a better bastard that sits on stilts. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. I’m so foreign to myself as to make making me a better bastard that sits on stilts. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. I’m so foreign to myself as to make making me a better bastard that sits on stilts. Fuck, I’m dirty. And there’s nothing like feeling clean, clearly. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. I’m so foreign to myself as to make making me a better bastard that sits on stilts. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. I seem to see the rolling people and how we can’t help it. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. I’ve never done anything but be dirty and wash and still think we’re dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? I just want to present the pageant pleasant. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. What you bathe becomes a lighter being, right, and by doing so becomes something better, right? Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. The position of vapor in my mind is a luster that you can spread a lot of lust on. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. This spring I, as always, try to touch the sun, and, as always, find myself dirty from the pointlessness of the impossible. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. I actually asserted our always. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. I’m afforded an actual meaning probably once or twice at best. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Abrupt again, this world, this messaging towards all members remembered. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. My imaginary adulthood can’t last forever. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. So emotion’s a no-show and now and again I factor the facts of dirty and slow and emote about this in the off hours. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Unleashed on the gladness on the east side of the city, these minor happens and ugly blots make tonight seem like a shower of the things I liken to like. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. I want to wash the dull mist, but the paper’s all blown, and there’s nothing left in the trash to clean the rest of the mess up, as idle paper pouting. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. The points go down diminishing, the fences putt up, and air seems clenched with the sound of sucre. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. The soft unleashes the calm spaces, where the weather pretends me clean. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. But darker, this dark heap upon us: getting fantasy to affect the strewn mess that lies in the corner by the bunched things. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Here and there he arrived too with clumps of dirt in his hair and an excuse about excuses. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. I was goofing around in moldy clothes. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Giving and warming, these warnings have now branched out into the streets and remain like piles of leaves, leaving no trace of the splendor. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. It’s a very curious situation I find myself again, this mess, this magnificent embarrassment, this tepid crying on the toilet. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. I want a corset-like cleanness like bright weather and sidewalks. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. A solid blush divines my spills and penetrates that which sits beside me, the other kind of sentimentality. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. A brief and elegant belief in violence. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. I adjusted the lighting down til possible as a better way to see the stains. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Discovered until the clouds come back. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. The strategy of destroying until the boy takes up employment, and finds somewhere to hide his shedding sheds. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. A beat bent backwards and meaning engraved as moaning, the purple kind. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. The speaking persons, wandering, leaning. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Who takes baths: sitting in your own filth perfumed with soap seems untidy. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. I cannot remember what made me dirty, only that it took shorter than I expected. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Beginning with elongated past and moving towards something clean. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. The lost ourselves my father told me about. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Carefully, the friends settle into position and rotate the humble. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. I’m absorbing the pleas of my family like television. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. The manner of the mouth of the percussive sky. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. The front of the ditch, devoured, a blooming pattering. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. I am running out of the legal form of aspiration. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Gartered with throngs of strips of unripe rice. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. I augmented a man. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. The hovers over the head don’t wash. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty. Fuck, I’m dirty.
