I’ve only made a few posts here, so I should say, there’s only so much tinfoil on my walls. Enough for me not to engrave a political party onto my core identity, enough to doubt the official reasons for every war that has ever occurred. Enough to side-eye my phone. Not enough bug-out to the woods (yet), not enough cry over the loss of Tartaria.
Who owns these pinch point sites though? Who keeps them up, corrupted to gibberish and devoid of their old function. Are these the blighted neighborhoods of the internet? A fluke in the evolution of some old Angelfire server? I hate how little I can do with these.
Then I wondered if I could turn them into poetry. Some silly thing to fiddle with when I’m toasted. Here is the first go:
Infrastructure opens to the Icon's name. All people, should we debate gun control? Send off a thorn, with a three pad protective shirt? What is the Wonderful point of everything? Experience romance in the past. Any adult brother, or any muscle spasm a cause of poisoning for children without demanding instant perfection? Or without aura? Various colors available. Fair dealing as fair and accurate to you? Girl and boy are very happy. Diagrammatic section, the police attitude is perplexing. The morphology of boar spermatoza. The reprise version is out. The least fishy tasting fish? Sorry, it was just poor audio quality. Permit filter is best? Is it? Weed should not act as your glasses. You did overlook the role, for instance. Motivation at this position tonight! Halloween came early! All is counter clockwise.
That was fun. I think I’ll call it Saipan Sucks. Til next time…
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