anyways

they've found me. three-thousand miles and a fresh (if principles were to inquire, i'd spiel about the characters instead, rather sullied and spoiled, but the barracks percolates novelty for now) outpost-- they have found me yet. although there are always loops and circuits and blackholes and them sorts of slopes when it comes down to formal procedures, and the third coming of an anti-christ and/or pecuniary enterprise; collection notices make grand bookmarks. one finds it necessary to try. they assuage your geometrically average novel with a whitened tip and tail.






i need a bar of gold.

Virtually

i swallow my harangue. cody emblazoned a lovely surf flag in optimistic orange and a colour of royalty, inversely. i'm washed up. i am washed. i was up. i, to whom the mattress does not belong, now recline on therapeutic waves of miscellaneous platonic courtships as a centerfold nightingale icon. concerning this d.w.i. dubbed 'errantly amuck..' i've had this story idea for a few weeks now; the hidden ominous title is, perhaps, one of two titles. secrecy is in the cards. the cards are windblowing-- presently. oh! the rhizomatic effects of planting seeds. i also have this idea for a children's series, or, rather, comical impositions for a better life. this will somehow be mid-exposé of our currently impending apocolyptic history, as always.

as ever,
jòn-austin