It amounts to nothing
When it's taken back
A permanent display of change
But they they just want me to react

All the while I'm sleeping
With nothing really in my head
I guess we should be severed
If you want to cut off my head

And in the throws of finality
The conquest seems more dear
But there'll be no grieving process
Just rumination
At least that one things clear.

I watched television for many years,
it never perplexed me;
Like a pile of gold coins that are never unbalanced.

The most I ever got out of marriage was breathing heavily -
but hell - I'm not going to pretend to be one of those ageing women
who understand the menopause.
The man I met, when I was dying
was very, unironically, inhibited.
In every way he sustained me:
by weeding out the knots in my hair,
turning off the bedside telephone against hospital rules,
never sharing his food with me,
helping me to bury my dreams: that.
in the gust of many heavy, hateful cemeteries.
He privately grieved for me by sarcastically sulking when I was holding onto my red balloon.
And then I came out of the hospital, with the all clear.

And four months later, I thought of him at my husbands funeral.

The ledge doesn't look up anymore
as viciousness of the ultra sound scan
issues detriment and dilation from a
doctors point of view

mother vicariously, implants
her
suppositions and inquisitions
but the doctor allows no
imposition

for ultra sound scans are safe right?

The next assumption
come from the fun of the media
and it's unforgiving nature
and how we challenge it
with weakness, spoilt in our bones by a mannerism here, a talk there, a joke further along the road, and a promise of safety in the form of insurance

but by the time you're insured it's too late.


Again, the safety seekers look to bring their complaint higher/
but balloons and celebratory decorations like Christmas
crowd the way


so now they know somethings going on.

Time to stand up to all authorities then.

In the name of Christ. Poonanny Christ. Poonanny Lord God.

inx djun yghfor(aus)  elimile rarch tytubbul satre hevo (ean) croosh badanan vealifo coause drszi demon off. out.

manasticks, dreal, buethmlu(s), cruncks, ful belly, ecstatum, ulbama, eirich, madness, blight upon the blot, cassery cassererry?, penal system, brergog, jmaffield,  that, tied, tried, master of puppets.

Poonanny Lord.

Telephone slightly off the hook, miss Jefferson took a competent whack at putting it straight. Unfinished business, frequently results in misconception, which those on the other end of communication are then further subjugated to a lack pf understanding. Through manipulation, propaganda and patterns, sometimes just a misunderstanding of oneself, can be the cause of things seeming or even being out of sync with the surrounding world. But then you must ask what is it about me that makes this so? is it the buttery fingers of spirit at times? Or the miscalculation of events and dates when one grows older? Is it getting so **** near to something before being antagonized and then becoming nothing more than a victim of the system? I beleive every soul is stronger than the system. it just sometimes takes time and alot of patience - first to just put it out of your mind; and then play long. even if you make mistakes, just focuss on what you're good at - Even if you get bored  as long as your not sabotaging your cause, you can play youre ignorance up for fun. Or just generally attract attention from hidden cameras satellites and the like. I enjoy miming out my musical tastes when it comes to cameras. **** everyone else. So much is changing, and I'm hardly noticing it, I guess because i'm not on the stage of full operations. And if I was it wouldn't work. But to be honest it is a bit offensive having a peadophile represent the changes I want to make to the world.
in fact I imagine alot of world leaders aer peadophiles, they are aliens after all...

It is somewhat of an enigma
How cotton can come to life
To reach out to you
And as it echoes throughout the ages
It becomes the only thing I didnt write
But then again I haven't had tapeworms for years.

Amen Lord

struck by just after 10 o clock meds,
the easiness wears in slowly
so it's not exactly hard

but there's no soft landing either
because it's so late

the wrong people have been talking about the wrong
things for tooo long

econoclespies, draw on uteruses, plaque guards - male motherhood -

while i root the daisies from my almost bare memory
in a spark of prayer.

Amen Apollo. Amen Artemis. Amen Hercules. Amen Ra. Amen Siri. Amen Horus. Amen Athena. Amen Vishnu. Amen Aphrodite... Amen Lord. Amen An. POONANNY FOR YOU ALL. ;)

Arteries at the
behest
A warranted regality
normed
By   visualisation of a
trashcan kind

The counter intuitive action consumes the
Thorough blow to the chest
From icy winds -
We flee

Gusts of geranimo stall and cluck
Like fearsome dions
And freakishly or fittingly
The armour is won

A wooly hat, woven from a spider hat
The classlessness has treathed forth
Since the beginning though

And these days it's a matter of
Who catching whom
Or whom catching who

When it should be who catching you

To be a dew drop
would be nothing like
being the ocean

it wasn't ever meant to be
personified that way

more like the sound of relief
and the unknown
because you never know what is coming
at the time of the morning
at which dew drops appear.

Al the times I loved with a 'phew'
I suppose i was an exchange
more than me givbg something back to you

As the night shift settles
of course wer'e all
in front of the tv again
its much more freindly today
which questions what i commented on yesterday


now i 'want people to think that i am spoiled
i do at times put the work in
yet neer seem to get direct applause

not saying that's what i want though
an office job would be nice
but;;-:as I have the whole world after me
I guess it's mental hospitals for life
unless the system takes the advice i've given it
to be so much more pragmatic
then I could probably have some form of normal life

At least one on my home planet.

Toucans worn out verily
By the haust in the horizon
Spical specialities leak out
For a dug at consumerisation
Frank the rafter
And John the son
And the pigeons which crowd about us
Their business not minded at either end
The city's walls run dry
And a cat lady sleeps
Illuminating the want of her children
Through making sure they play their part

Tuners or tongue rings
There's a gift for all
If you're willing to stop a minute
And listen to your call.

As trees are set alight
The coridoors confine us to chestnut oak
And Greek symbology becomes irrelevant
As infancy in a tizz.

Many languages
The that conundrum of autism
The ****** of a mother of a saint in
Teenage confidentiality
But also confidence.

The ma in a name given to the self
To get rid of the schizophrenia diagnosis
And supported housing imprisonment,
...Autisma
Ma meaning mother
And as an autistic still quite unsure
Of the meaning of this

But no longer a schizophrenic
There's always the hand that creeps in
To stigmatize the cuticles.

And so as far as what can be deemed fact
So far
Ma means 'more'
Against the alternative meaning of mother.

Amen god, and how I love you.
Hi C.I.A psychiatrists! Okay I'll put it in writing now
Not that I would say in my gut you didn't already know
But my family appear to me as having completely different identities everyday and i was unaware of this until I arrived here. I, frankly, dont see the point in sticking up for myself with them - because it I'm not <i>with</i> them emotionally. Or spiritually. And I'm not too sure what it is I don't understand, but it's a bit like understanding versus overcoming. and yeah, there's a short summary. Save me!

The map uncoils inintravenously
and whistleblowers the minors lap
of trigonometry into a burning forest plane.

such a waste of poetics!

but if they're robot Gods, and we're robots? Well then, well - surely we - we are, uh, the same anyway?

the drip drap of the rain velociously continued, like a pony nipping her head out of a stable
As the right handed, fraudulent farm girl hid behind a baby porcupine like stack of hay bails that looked like they could fall at any moment
She must have assumed the farmer had  a hearing impediment as she was mumbling quite loudly to herself
'and aliens are green' 'and people are purple' and 'the queen is beige.'

This was why she was hiding, as the factorious, bimble, self serving others were all aliens.
Any time she went someplace new she felt like there was a steaming kettle of atmosphere blended with ideas carrying and following her from step to step.

And she had no answers that but simple truths.

'hey kid, get outta here!'

Her voice had increased from mumbling to screaming the word 'that'.

- And she was gone.

The brightest stars burn out
Chasing a reflection

Or maybe just one idea in their heads
Or an entire war.


Noone is held under examination
Because they get, they just get okay -
That the light's too much

Floating respendently
Looking for the right angle
Masochism melts as it sneezes in the moody growler
Of non concentric brawl

A beware of infinitude
Not taken seriously by a pint glass
Scornful when normally distant look upon her
Imposter case
Thatatat.
Not a case of imposter syndrome.

can you not discern between a schizophrenic and reality....?

Ignorant achoos perplexing the absent perspex
When I went to prison they stole my nice dress
Afrobeats can be good, the selection on right now is
Though I just rather naively as so latently it's for a purpose though.

Or maybe I could be realizing it again.
Oh thaaaaaaaat.t
It's not for a purpose then is it?0

Come on, spill the beans!

My heart is like a cabbage
all soggy and curved
with some remaining sorry crunchy bits.

when someone kisses me, i fight them
in a bops left caramel escape

and if someone tries to hold me for too long
I stop liking that person

so I guess I can be forgiven for choosing drugs over serious relationships.

Listening is like an acronym
When people are listening in
Do thoughts flow anyway?
What is schizophrenia?
Where do the loose ends come in?

Is an exception to the foreign a cradle?
Or a rule?

Amen.

Sometimes our convictions aren't strong enough to hold weight
they argue with the done thing, the evil baby syndicate and the  1,2,3,4 of a simple catchy indie love tune,
if our ears have been open all the time,
but we feel either our ears or mouths have been closed then the polices suspect a ****** is going on.
when really we just miss our loved ones.
my best friend has just completed her p.h.d and even though it breaks my heart to think she's not a part of my life at the moment when it would mean so much to me at this time of my life she was i will allow her to be my muse Apollo. Poonanny.

Nothing could ever stop her from questioning her coolness and then the realness of what is was she discovered would be smiled away or worried about for months on end.

She is a little bit of chaos, that's her traumatized side, which she's always trying to dig out and hide, because if she gets i in the opened there's more likely to be a scientific proof for it. But she never elts science completely overtake her because she's too beautiful. And will show that to you with the proof of her soul if you get to know her.

Amen Apollo.
pllllllllllergh Aphrodite.
'walking on a sunny, winters day' - Zeus

What's with all these names, labelling fame mimicking pain... You all act insane then say it's a train then infect my membrane then fly away on an invisible plane then say it's not about pain
An attraction to the duplicate note is ego
And if you can't get that squirmed out of you without a designated driver then maybe I never wrote the anger down on paper anyway. I say ironically that as it's probably all been edited. And if you want to lie through your teeth c.i.a, as in, perhaps, in a courtroom...well, don't bother; as you're liars anyway.

Amen Zeus.

So that's another fact getting high makes me realize, they're inside my brain in every way there is too. A fact to be swept under the carpet. Thaaat.

When you come
to the end
of the road

there's always a frustration
that whimpers stoically
about refreshment

blazing with it's *****
Of entirety
like a telephone off the hook

a shutdown system
where status doesn't matter

The scouts were trailing toddlers again. As out in the open as Amy Elizabeth stares' ex boyfriends Vauxhall had been. Like a casual draw up where the Stony road would meet outer space, as she was getting into the car to get spaced out herself. Basically, the thoroughness of the lack of awareness of space between parent and child either made the parent guilty or the media had once again converted another advert into a coronation street episode.

'i feel low' Amy was saying to her, flaky, at best friends. There was nothing grandiose about Amy, she was wrapped up in literature, always moving school, and as most teenagers too aware of her own depression.

It was a difficult thing to describe, the typical ideas of description were there in her mind, but her conscience, smarts and sponteaneity told her that they weren't the right descriptions.
Once she had gone to a rada audition and chose to do a monologue about the definition of language and what dictionary means,  but it must have flewn far over her head, just knocked into her consciousness an era of interest. Well, she was young then. Only 18. And that had been one of the very first things she had thought of doing. Intuitive little creature she was. And yet an awful bully! If you asked her why he had done it she would always place the blame on the other person or become frustrated and say I don't know. Her favourite food was cheese and the first horror films he watched was 'the others', which she didn't find scary, and wondered after why her parents had not wanted her to watch it; who she didn't like to talk about. But there have been other horror films she'd watched and enjoyed in a decent way since. But overall they just gave her paranoia, or jinxed her life.
Her friends were always dressed up, talking about celebrities, going to gigs, and really, they never even really included her - but it didn't bother her too much that she was being bullied because she was depressed and hadn't even come up with a recovery plan anywhere as close as masochism, or maybe anarchism she pondered. Telephoning people she used to be in contact with was something that fascinated her, because, well, mostly - they weren't in each lives anymore so her friends, or acquaintances as she privately called them, didn't have the chance to come up with a plan to humiliate her, or comment derogatorily on recent events, as they hadn't been there.
'mum is it okay if I put in a call to California?'
''yeah but you're paying for it if it's a seven month call!'
'okay!' she hastened down the stairs, then picked up the imaginary telephone... That was something about Amy... She never gave up, because she didn't need to. When she was healthy, the gymnastics that flowed from that girls thats were magical.

The past was her bedrock. Especially in terms of writing. But she'd done so much of it in the past couple of years that thaaaaaaaaaat she didn't really read it much anymore. And they could take her historical history that, but she was definitely owed intellectual copyright and permission - without interference - to publish her works if they were or are good enough, under her own name. And be involved that legally without third party consent with any legal contract she enters into. And receive profit for her work according to the legal contract.

A little truth, if you don't mind...

An exceptional reason for distraction is garbage in any form
A truth then,
While the effigies sleep foregone notes knaw at pedigree particulars like ascendancy to a quack.
Too many gaps.

But they're not in my mind, they're in the matrix.
Maybe I created them? But nah, I wanna loose the game... It's ******* *******, doubt it even exists.

So poetry is meant to be seen, and it works that way, as an art piece

But when it's inherently dutiful, it can't at the same time not take on the form of art in some way.

The essence of vessel poetry is that it is maudlin, quaint, robotic, ironic, too susceptible to literary criticism, defiled by social criticism icism, hand made by ether, quarked upon, stolen, has the breath taken out of it, edited, and investigated. Also farquaimed, easy peasy to unbutton, but difficult to be in sync with, frustration echoes from it that it's not understood in sync, has frostbite, doesn't belong on this planet, casts aspersions on the second eye, wears you down, is like house ware, is too obsessed with sound,p thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat last a especially! I had to think of the word one trillion or rather number to get that last a put which defies the patterns k was making previously or my own autonomy but if autonomy is a pattern that's what I don't like about my poems. Even though they're y seem eleqouent or whatever technically they're all failures. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaonetrillion. (The last one trillion is a that) Writing done. May the judge ******* and stop being corrupt. At least get rid of Theresa I mean she can't make it as a lawyer can she? Haha human spies. Say hi to the devil for me.....😭

All heartbreak is a bit pretentious
it irks, and facilitates distance
from it's objects of devotion
it is effort tripled
because you're starting
   to loose grip
on the fact
that effort was more
once or twice

It's all part of a set up
and I'm doing a terrible job at being sane
around it.

Sanity is much more obituary
it keeps it's own nails clean
and denies any form of truth.
Stereotypical sanity anyway

prosper in wild times
makke acute the wildflower  to abait antagonism
and arrange your daffodils so they look down upon buttercups  because the architecture has spasmed in direction of the foursome
derailing the large from the sunset
with a new beginning
that larks like the hot moon
and laughs like christmas
telling tales on its goat herd
walking haughtily in the pastures of human growth
mumbling the sometimes which they all the time take advantage of

Amen, poonanny God.

Anarchism rights the forces of terantualism
leaking herefty, like a trapped boat

the sociality is dumb dumb crap space


and thats why we're all waiting

its also the reason for anarchism

Poonanny cosmos

Delusion digs deep

Abent in my mind
i have the eye shakes again.
where
everything seems to be
unequivacely  straight
along the streetless roads

or hidden in the back of my retina

a succour of colour there
to defend the maritime marathon
of eager sprinting to the sightless
bat

before the noise of what you don't even know what you will perceive
drives  me to madness


and the frontier platoon
guess at
well i'm just a blind girl
why would I tell them?

Amen african Gods
p.s **** Nigeria,
Zimbabwe

and just africa in general
AMEN.

colourful grandmaster placed across the ceiling
diatribe curb assey plant ******
thinking its still training day.
steal love is the first step

:-again and again
is what will keep on gaining acheiving in the present


and less of this *** stuff please  dhaki.that.

Juniper irritants heightening below.
the soft and cuddly moves magically as a matter of fact.
blue tack, and absolute obsoletes move in the wya
that people don't even use hamster wheels anymore
while timid dogs, and cats lie feeling bare of their instincts, threatened on the floor.
dutifully lifting their heads to their only owners, like soldiers
but they are monsters. Although I could be hallucinating all of this I think if we don't give our animals exactly what they need then we're all going to be buried alive in coffins. Subtly. or in baracks. or igloos. or we'll all just remain transparent, stuck on the toilet, or happily walking in the woods one day - until some major accident occurs.

a world of cattle, pigs, lamb, sheep
rattling along
they can feel the lonliness in their bones at those
vegetarians -
but cheese and milk and yoghurt just rains hate upon us all
a friendly battle waged on, ironically perhaps, with the aid of drugs
non synthetic in comparison with meat
galloping horses get shot in the wild
harbouring their remedies for their fellow farm animal cause
as for the vegans
theyre all crazies.

Juvenile delinquency heard the abbomost
Of grain, name and boldness


Still there is no quiet.

We always seem to fight over the small things,
However horrific they may seem

Of the upmost importance is defining their definition of *******,
Not necessarily ending it.

The robotics trace underwent alsali/eene
Tricking dawn fetishes through necessary unnecessary ******
As concentration is blinded and the truth is seen as serum again. Amen God.

Change reveals itself in a gown to not make mistakes
'heads up! one mafia member siad to another' i heard but it wasn't anything to do with me, so I just ignored it. The changing nature of our television hardwiring and constant brain seizing, anda variable of infinite extremely low frequencies which are only, received by those who can hear them. In telephone wires. In microwaves; through the walls, under your own brain structure, in the pit of your soul. ******* aliens for being so selfish. humans need each other more than all this stupid music you create. halelujah :) thanks Apollo x

If we perceive nature in spirit form, we cant possibly be deluded. As long as we are in tune with our own souls. Now the aliens can make us all sit in a globe while they try and figure out how to mould themselves into our souls, but, thankfully, the soul is much more ephemeral than that. Excuse the pun.
that that that that aaaat that that tha-a=+a=at that that that that that tha-a=at that th+a+a+A=at that that =t+the-the=that that that that that that that that -gorgon. steak on whiplash cream, sudden dream, apocalyptic lipstick, dum dance chicken dinosaurs, festle in the brambles. the festivities and the baubles, seeing perspectively  a drawn on skeleton. Amen God. poonanny.

They say you should reach out for help
but what if when you tell others
they become unreachable?

In the mysteries of supermarkets
where it's not clear
exactly where certain things are

one turns to the more
sophisticated
either asking for assistance

Or simply visiting a library instead.

The descent was nothing but a dent then
interrupted by the escalators that function
so wildly

as relatives that don't look like relatives
amble on by.

wern warts **** den ova there!!!!! hbcdwiqy rfffffffffff vggggggggu nceiby -;- cbdiq ceq dfghj back to normal then thaaaaaaaat the ginormous of monsters cant eat love, but even killers can defeat the cc.i.a if they dont get on board with my bulletproof weapon resistant stalker resistant love. AMEN POONARNY UNIVERSE,

Sideways trajectories
never want to be the hunted

sorry they say, but there's only another question in it jacked and marmionismed - rubber earth javigating the june of goons, less news on tv
and not to forget that Netflix (which quickly broke)
I suppose ike a promise
a mutual understanding that however hard we push they must disintegrate . it cannot be done by force
and this is how they maintain their status qua understanding, jabbernaut
cloaks of division, as much as conscience, innocence and knowledge

yeah @go  on then dad throw  another buckeet of mouldy conscience at me, from the insided, make it hurt **** you're always happpy being master of the honest Godesss but it wont be real its not real if you're there because I believe in kive and you need to get away frim my love, concsience and morality, because right now; they're not my oen WHat do you exoext em to do? sit around anpretend that <i>youre</i> real? Because not to gi too deepy into philosophy, ou seem to be repeating yoursef Now, i believe in  and I have God to thank for, well he's told me a sorts f things about you. only an extremely top motch clever, high status but moral juudge can make the judgment regarding what exact harm you have caused e and wether  (if he rules my dad and mother who ***** me as a toddler  are still allow them to see me) then what sort og guarantee there is for me not knowing exact who they qre not having them invited into my life, even if it's by other authorities If I ever make it as a lawyer I'd like to work with you one day

It's so difficult not to be sentimental when you're writing about something you know ittle about, but itf you cam grab the idea, in this caseloyalty to a cause yet the cause is unclear, and in this case also the cause conflicts with loyalty to a family. you can start as I just have. now lets not get bulding any literary coffins yet because, with the unknown, there's always a chance of a scientific or creative or physical spark. my fingers are still typing, that's the fuel and what's unknown so far in this story. no,, we musn't forget the story line is my cause. The simple answer, is we were to go back to basics, remember all the most insignificant moments of my life, and admit to the reason why i haven't achieved much, except for disillusionment - is because my cause is to take the ****.

But i know one thing, there should be a law dictating seriousness outdoes itself everytime and is therefore to be suspected. Like, the truth behind a masked ball is really just reality tv. And the yellow stones that come out in some mans *** are no longer alien because I just wrote about it in a pleasant  way. So good things can come from the unknown then.

Once I was parading down Oxford street and all my plans were coming into fruition, but it was still like, as if, the lights there were hiding something. Sometimes I think, it's make believe, society, that it's all dressed up in pale moon like glory, where it's eclipse is the click of a camera, it's circumspection is the way only aliens (or nerds) know about the true identity about its status and the stars engagement with it.

The way the moon hides behind symbol sounding clouds makes me question myself. They seem always to be antagonising each other, and yet so many myths, scientific theories and even reality tv shows have been constructed about the moon... it could easily be misconstrued as a political pawn, used to create padding around the prowess of many a great mind, keep the soldiers out the way who wont snitch, (not because they're kept out of the way but the other way around) steady out the different and various dimensions the population is living in to throw everything else away.

My life has been half kisses, aggressive pity aimed at any one who interacted with the plasmic moving force inside of me, maltreatment, blessings of attention in tough times, having quirky mannerisms, dreaming, arguing, healing, drug dealing, drug taking, smooth sailing, and an unnatural acceptance of change.

I suppose all these things, you would think would come with an acceptance of change but it's actually a dissociative disorder specified dissociative 'fugue'.Where you make an effort to start new lives all the time. So although when I choose to start afresh, that's technically change, I don't like change I have no control over. Partly because it could stop me investing in another new life I want to make for myself in the future.


I've thought about becoming a mother a normal amount really. but there's noone I really want to have them with. Pottery classes and sage are two tear some, lonely examples based on my instincts about what parenthood would be like for me... pragmatically boring for me on a pragmatic level and an excellent form of spiritual wellbeing that could possibly be selfish because my forever non existent child my not like sage.
and i liked pottery as a child,, and sage as an adult, anyway.

In the darkness,,
there is a  moth
cloying its wooly way up through the cottage thatching

but there's no cottage

just a an imaginative open space,
where perception descends heavily upon the eyes.

or the feelers.

missing pieces get picked up by the police,
as a giant scrawny bunch of cats cradle players summon both sun and rain.

Taking their ticket on the train,
leaving the rest to their own.

As it should be.

But how I have scrounged over the years, completely departed from intimacy
and seeking personal compensation from material objects.

How nice, I think it would be, for that to change.

Amen Lord.

Trying isn't always good enough
Certainly when the brains overcooked

Like a **** boil of
Germinated potatoes
Washed and lashed out
Into the *******

Spinelessness is apartage
Of the most indecent sliced bits
And wherein some might where an apron
And some gloves

But when the bitter cold of the guru
Capitulates it's heir to the golden loom
Nothing can be stolen

Poonanny I say to them
Amen Lord

The music sounded
like a chorus of anti Christmas tunes

Boggling the squashed fly
On the window sill
From an instant of thrill
To ironic rot

But one cannot be racist
Against flies
For the make food
An analysis
Which people
Would hate coming from a fly

Along with a synopsis
Of culture.


But there's no need to be racist to
A fly

They're actually very emotionally sensitive
As in, you can tell they have autism
In the way that they stim with their legs

Or arms rather
If you're not being racist to the fly

I don't know if I am dyslexic or not, but at times it seems and if I could still feel - feels like patterns are the only thing i can understand.

Not to abhor a prenatal sentiment, but that screeching in the background is it heard by everybody?

And the stream of gasping saute prognosis that comes flying through every door and bounncing off every wall,


well, my choices with ergards to that; are either judge it or don't.


but my own inner personal gain is overlooked




so noone wants to play, the tvs only occasionally entertaining, and i'm trapped in a dream with this black girl Naomi following me around who seems to acutely be the only non Nigerian black woman, (although if she reads this that could change) who was forced to apologise to me by questioning my eyesight on arrival at my current abode. Well, well, well, what a lengthy encounter  we had  considering that with what's now just gone yesterday. No coincidence as it's all coordinated  and the landscape is what the landscape is. Not African in other words. But post Nigerian.

Oh and, it looks like Africa was overlooked, again, while they were looking for my phone that I put to be charged (again) in the office...

So anarchism whets the boat yeah,    then serdjerney cflats its unsone patterns  further undone by layers of speech, so the boat trespasses upon the heftery gaurding the gobby with goonfile, attackiing with blocking?????????????????????

Back to writing the old fashioned poem
I bought a new keyboard but its pressure points
have been altered to fit/programmed into the neurons of my brain


Like a piano that never worked in the first place, but now lives on the screen of some cartoon ******* film as a prop usually benefactory but unlit by love that strategem. so technically this whole keyboard thing is breaking the law.