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
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