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.