A monumental museum on the mountaintops and a ghost town’s clocktower bell ringing with no one around; why waste the energy? I’ve dug a two cubic metre cavity in the ground; occasionally, I crawl in and lay on my side. I almost always feel like a pillbug; but today, especially so. Tired of the violent and vibrant vertebrae. The gold-coat slyboot brings great luck. Mary meant merry merriment merely mirrors merry minted merriment. You’re a real sleaze, aren’t you? Innoperational apostrophi prophesying the templictic. Tonight: we will be sleeping in a can of worms.
Ransomware, real estate. Incandescent and irate. Hiding under the new autobahn. Lemon-sucking lions rolling and crying. Gasoline guillotines are still rather too slow. An irregular gourd vortex. Camouflage, spherical turrets: an orange, a bowling ball, a terran globe. And you can put them in your pocket; alternatively, on a pedestal, in a little glass box. Ramming and slamming your car into the same brick wall until you can’t anymore: this is destiny. Felicity is missing persons poster, please.
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