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"prick jagger" by me
Isabnormal conformal anomalies. The diluvial. I conformed until the isogeotherms of our eyes bled bloody ass blood. It was so egalitarianistic, but you know, now I know that we can, in fact, blow each other up and still be connected to the fideism of fatalism and hedonism. Sacramentarian solitary confinements and sleep deprivation patterns: we came together on that day for an eleemosynary hour of "I'm going to get up in a minute". It was beautiful. Then, cherry "swimming trunks" acolouthic and guitar aerobics from an acrobatic's aeropleustic anal-retentive assacre/ass explosion of self. Despite my ixiodic and interstitial instincts, I was proven lamiaceous and.. well, that's how it is: Intercrural!
And so begins another vespertinal trek on the scarabaeans of ebay, looking for some kind of existential or neo-mystical enlightenment. Well, fuck. The pascual adventure meant I snagged an old vinyl record, punk as nostalgic art I guess. Sexy black vinyl, mmmm. So what? Patibulary rations and rational realizations aside, I guess you can say that life is okay. Job? Sucks. Sex life? Great. Music? Medium-rare. Video games? Mystagogical. Taste? Absinthe. Leonine sign. Leone signs, too, if you catch my drift (well-framed shots, beautiful landscapes, that familiar Morricone guitar strum....). Can't find that margaritomancy old crust patches for xenomancy crust pants but oh well.
There is nothing more embarrassing than watching a nearly 70 year old man prance around onstage at halftime of perhaps the biggest event of the year. Prick Jagger.
I'm feeling somewhat oestrogenic today. Pyogenic and such. This week was fun. My friend doesn't like rock n roll. How spodogenous is that? I know he governs a monarchy, but come on, I love you and all, how can you do this to me? "Smoke on the Water". Pigmentocracies aside, I can't complain.
The end.
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