I think I'll try Manchester instead.

Blazed a hole in their walls, the party of walls closing in, glasses smash to bits as bodies collide into dots, I like to watch the drama, melting selfies in hell or Portlandia, it means that You were seen, I saw you behind the walls that collided, the books ends of conflict and illogical, and it could be something.

My my..

Love is getting a special letter from David Bowie, even if he is mysterious.

I breath in the stars every night through my nostrils where I convert it into hope particles.

Always have sex in Paris, it's an iron clad rule.

My abs are so bronze that they will turn to bronze and be imortalized, end of the old Gods, in with the ABS.

It should be abundantly clear that if Russia is not pushed out of Ukraine within a short time a middle finger will go right into Europe.

My Mom says the Queen was keeping it together, now its not possible.

If the tecknology goes bad, there is always Prince, the amazing.

They just love their reflection reflected in others upon an emptry grave, in woes for eternity as to still walk and talk, was that not being a God, the person you were, the one you lost.

There can only be one.

Live it or ditch it.

I say my hands are soft, like rubberbands you tug at the heart of the science of art, and grab away to the sound of silence, where you hide a savage face, angry for nothing, the drop of blood found at the beach, the diamond clock, the fancy treat.

There's nowhere to go inside a silver screen.

Me, uh, no, nothing, just pack your bags and cruize to Alaska, there you will be happy, and you will see a grizzly bear, which will kill you, then devour you whole.

Saying the truth is sometimes a radical act, but with out radical acts there is regression and stagnation.

Your clues, must have notes, or then you were dreaming.

You could say that the past which has no beginning, the present which can't be nailed to an exact point and the mysterious future all happen at the same time, which is time. So if we examine the past we can't help but stumble upon the future, but that might take the fun out of it, or kill it entirely for us.

The lips that sweat, so cute, with nose above tilting like a small bridge, were above eyes like burning coal. Wet t shirts on the cobblestone, confused looks at clock towers going wild, my shoe laces untying by themself, a women in orange groping herself, the stroll ended with an apple tree and the eating of an orange as she turned mostly orange in her fake tan, I was almost fooled, and so was Chesty Chad, now a sailor who played with his hair inside a mirror, and always eats from a can.