dinsdag 3 december 2013


The dog can't read the sign. It makes part of our interest though to be read and to leave for no other reason
his appearance and the noble treatment of both sign and dog to others who know more of it or don't.
Huge artificial hemispheres hang above our head.
Heaven must be meant as such, a canvas filled with blood and meat fresh from a sign that can't be read.
It is, make sure you are the other one before we meet, least of any of my interests. Is she the one I knew? i forgot i forgot
i forgot Breakfast has been without and it's getting late to care about the brains I could have had.
What politicians make us see sprouts from a dog arse whatever crap it has been fed. A smell of kinky underwear, distance stuck to naked shoes.
Well, I can't read but I do know where it goes as eyebrows with pleasant effort touch, effortless,  the dirted scene.

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