Strongest proof of god
is that I can’t sing, second
proof I can’t draw shit
I not only can
nap now I need nap or I’m
feebler than new borns
I lose my balance
opening the dishwasher
Still love steep mountains
up but steep mountains
down now no, fucking hurts, knees
yes, eyes more, can’t see
where feet go, will I
kill myself deliberately
or “stumble” to my
death, a soccer team’s
shirt has joint you can bet my
death over/under
pjoepf Of vriecyh 
i like the graphic
about performance changes over time – i hear you
i was glad to read at the daily mail that bonnie raitt won a grammy last night – i had not heard the song in question
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woden-wisely, Goddis guarantees
you focus Jeffic angergy on twerking
visual cortices polka’d by the
Corn Ubiquity’s graphic
design-weebles while cracka-Shaitan (y’alls Nemesis) be
greasin Buttes
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