Voilefähig
révision de drei. Txt
0
quick and lamented (laminated) , too protect spills from coffee cough fee; and/or (the) germs.
A graphite wave/slash/tent, three main sect shuns, with plant lyf and rot. trickling down with downforce but self-identifying, like a finger pointing to one's self.
or #slimecore ectoplasm. soft jelly (jam) trakemarkt
initials to give auf a jazz
hands sort of vibe & commercialism with the emptiness and niché arbitrariness perhaps unrecognizable and lazy, but them initials written with confidence, and sureness of foretelling of magnanimity.
I point to myself in my little hut, yes I am for sale and I want you to change your name to me.
1
Certain lines lie on page and plastic protecteur (provoketeur) sets up that corner turn of 45o. I cleaned these pages earlier with my hands: unsure of how clean they were themselves,
as items. She stands on her back to show domination, her head pointing back maybe just close the
book again. Only the top line leads off; solidarity of the corner. The neon dominatrix with
one foot on pink whale's back and one in her butt. What does the green arrow represent; green panties ejected off the wall,
a flower's stem. The gal on the flo' upside down P's für eyes, my middle initial as nose:
mouth ajar. Haar loose as head title up, body pinned by the neon dominatrix. Her pussy hear mehr archaic and her body built rudimentally, stone chiseled like a "primitive", green line in front for some reason. The dimples in baby pink whale's back right above the asscrack. Both worn makeup. Neon dominatrix has no mouth.
2
Das pink skeleton stands upon the mario floating grass, shoe-laces tied Pink and wishy washy. Green tits drawn out. hanger collar. C at the bottom, see ath the bottom, sea; si. A green divide branding it at such an interval, that of the gift. Red bloodily crawled upon vessel mirroring itself, as grafitti, the C was too. A tit, atitted. Blood drawn down into a ribbon. Stopping on presents. A gift to read into as the eventual gold excrement. that it all becomes.
Albeit however the isolated piece of grass and the illusory descent towards the corner, walking. Waking down. soft N n pencil. Z for Zorro, N for Norro?
3
When the sky is white and there's no whore to go, two cloud's shall get next together. No colorful prismatic waves, just an orange rod. Stemming from your pyellow piss stained panties making a molecular structure prefect for the kite flown under the clouds, the blau framed clouds. An antiquated structure for a flying skeletal plane under the distance too.
Enside the clouds the hoof footed gal face; blue diamond'd and all. Horned by green emeralds in the wood. Her lush hairy eyebrows and eyes of disdain, loss, loss, anticipation, and
apprehension tear on purpose out of her left eye, mouth albeit a bit open, hot pink lipstacked and a soft nose that leads into that soft hot pink abraced mouth labias.
Haar tear a minute tornado on the unfinished pages of regret and thought, far point at the graphitic tears where that orange rod points underneath. The piss stains coming thru the paper too, cloud got selfconcious so the cartooned eye appeared on each, lazy and I barely notice! Piss stains blend into the yellow panties so well. But either way there is nothing.
4
The green eyes danced with curved lines pointing outward to the remnants of a piss stain, a passing memory: a failed regard. Bushy soft eyebrows (green lines tattooed thru). One ridge in all of its casualness, a casualty; causal.
Lips red stained like cherry upon each other, juicy and lush.
Millions of galaxies thru her eyes; orange, pink, and yellow and of course: grün.
5
Transitional path; an anchoring system (the orange wire frame). Constructed and built by only the intuition that it can and may and must. Sketchy, all over; sketchy like shadows, attempted to be erased. A garden path but not easy to cross just like playing an old RPG video game (8-bit). The cute neuron receptors move and build as they go, unwittingly.
At the end of the other side is a bisected island: floating. Climb down the orange ladder. There's a flag on one side, with an "N", a "Z", or an "S", depending on how its waving and lots of other contingencies. There is a large amount of grapes in the orange ladder; they hinder your performance on the easy descent. Eat up my friend, for when you get to the floating island nothing is there except a flag which emits confusion.
6
Her hand and foot up, the pp floating upwards against her lava, pelvis, and naval. It floats thru the portal (of time¿). The edges of your body are fleeting anyway, dismantling if you had a will. Her angelic hair like a graphite halo & of course the fresh blood on her lips & emitting from her nipples. Her breast angular yet soft & clumsy. One stigmata on her right hand shooting across into nothingness, missing the floating island with a 3-D triangle flag (w/ nothing written upon it).
I will forgo discussing her open eyes as the words would be less than pointless and more super than superfluous. Her nose flails together impossibly with an arrow pointing up, yet she cannot see her nose, and she wouldn't look at it anyhow. She is eyebrowless, her neck cylindrical, here eyelashes curled and wild and wavy.
Left hand up maybe holding a future-gun. It's murky though seeing thru the portal with its two arrow heads, forming a "W". The piss surrounds the portal and ejects a straight line of pointed piss, crossing the planks of other lines of piss. It all points near the embellished face of a believer who has had their mind sucked and eyes blinded as they look into the portal. It is not looking towards direct, no; this is more like hieroglyphics. On the side it is more like the remnants of attempts at sense and life. Some grass grew near the mountain but it slayed rocky.
It is all like screaming confusion: seamed. Her head rocky like the mountain, her hair sweeping thru. The portal is taking in her mind but her body will lay back into the mountain, into some of that grown grass. Likely to stay bleak and isolated, untouched.
To stay untouched. To stay unknown. The blank triangle floating atop that sticks just like a variant flag, an unstructured triangular
slab with her kiss mark on it as it disseminates into the forgotten. Maybe some dust and shadows appear again, but I
wouldn't know.
7
"Be cool, dad id e-o." the witch says, as you blow on these pages to clean the debris. The witch with hearts on her cheeks and blinded maroon eyes. The green lapels of her coat sticking upwards, as her grotesque tongue flops out into the purple tornado cortex.
N N in yellow. , points to the blue orifice. the other pointing away
And the brightest neon arrow telling you to move on, to move forward; not back.
The witch with her stereotypical black pointed hat. Her hear brunette, her bangs straight and angled. Her skin pink, and lined like a printer.
Some green goop covering the math anecdote of energy in the murk. It's just lines its just a shadow, it's just a green fog, its just the scraping of fingernails bleeding upon the walls of foreign despair defaced by the paid-graffiti. The void wants it to be mainstream; it wants that cleanliness because it still feels there is a God.
And he is white and clean, and the witch is pink and the math is green slime but the blood remains red,
at least oxidized.
8
Red taillights glimmer, against the orange smooched beetle car, glorious windows ashine with blau and the antenna with the flag with the "N" on it again. The front headlights are grün,: cuz' grün means go.
Purple mistress crying the neon haphazardly & an orange hart wrapped around her head, her mouth slightly open w/ a cense of excitement to perhaps ride in such a vehicle. The vehicle slammed and non-era-car, long door hinges of the same body colour (only darker) and more solidified, like plastic upon medal.
Piss on the floor (and front) of the car & piss on her face: her tears are piss; her hair asian purple n' str8 with incongruity.
9
She done standt upon. thy triangular blank carpet all while back in the void The purple arrows coming out of the strange sculptore
that she is amalgamated to,
It's like astroturf, a green coated ventilation station. Her neon garter belts like piss stains stained onto skin and ascertaining where the thigh highs once were, her green heels of unequal length.
She bent awkwardly with her hair thrown back, so straight, and flatironed. Her arms bent and
non-completed; tits up, makeup smeared lips and cross eyed energized blau eyes with a nose architechture structural, a pink line on the right side of her face. Her right shoulder apparent too, somehow. The carpet also coming out of the vent, between her legs and her see through body. White und clean like the rest. The old shaped sculpture structure attached with odd angles seemingly pointing at her naval. She is half sculptural, half humanistic, half prop, half drawing, half sculpture, half real, half dead.
10
This mother lay dead, the urine of life-force, a tit flopped over it. Eyes closed and in pain or orgasmic; I can't tell. Slivers of her belly like compact discs that fall into the aborigines version of yourself maybe: maybe the tribal version of you, of her one leg shown, right, her right leg skinny and small ford , flat thigh. She is dead. Her ashes spread. Graphite hair like that of feather worn by dead warrior. Out her belly button a thin string that points to the top corner. Move along now, for it is soft and whirling ashes; ashes that form a rainbow, and a dead soul.
state skull south america
Afrika. some
some sort of continent content in being alone content in being nothing
11
content in being dead content in being dirt content in being pink content in being wrong.
The green commercial structure points at where the nose should be for the glowing demon eyes of comic book superheroes' past. The energy floating around with plant life growing out of the cracks
N. Z.
12
Alienic gal spinning at the UFO discotheque, alert and concentrated. Her space suit tight, her multifingers feeling out the rhythm on her space circles. No eyes but big marbles instead; it's more fashionable. Nose super triangular and lips plush and fat and crooked. Headphones hidden under her wigged hair. The nose holds up her big marble eyed glasses as she has no eyes, she just hears the music in the club.
On the dance floor a magenta bent axis with a squiggly purple tangle pointing downwards and right (cue tone to turn page); yellow reflecting auf the magenta metal. The yellow light behind Miss DJ. She has her back turned to the audience which consists of one dancing star, childishly colored green and amateur.
13
A hard cocked protuberance with an upside down squared off heart as testicles.
Nipples spinet as formations appear like an angry mask. She's holding a whirly-dirly fun4all bent glider rider. Like a kite but more fun. The sick spewing out pissed out cum making a thick puddle. The yellow flower right by the headless cock. Her real eyes, sloped downwards looking, her big humongous nose hiding her mouth. Her tears always making her tits, blue garters and orange striped thigh high stockings with her toes blue and exposed. That flower in a pink wicker basket.
The green slime man she once was standing in the transparent distanced foreground. F-MAN.
Her reddened masturbatory fingers waving goodbye or hi. her thrown soft thick eyebrows sincere and straight. The green man looks angry, angry and incomplete, distanced and scopephilac. The hard
purple dick and dark pink testicles where his neck would be, her blue pussy hair on top. The left nipple is the mouth, right under the long green nose. Her pussy lips sharp and purple and flapping, but sharp like a fang.
Azure coat hanger.
Azure ribs, soft.
That flowerhead so urine yellow right near the cum spitting cock. That basket dark inside.
14
The eye of god is a penis spewing out blood from a manga character action packed with pose and whimsicality.
His shadow like an alien head falling into the wall of tall green grass with the non arrowed
purple five lined rainbow pulled most over (3/5). The grass making a dark indigo projection thru the floating orange brain cloud which it hits turning in a softer blue, like a dark teal, the arrow bowing and pointing back down towards the tall grass: in its gray atmosphere. Remember the manga man stands on a small patch of baby green grass.
15
So Happy to end, let's end on a colorful note. orange pasty caucasian holding a baked purple talking caption that is complex and coming from the insane, to the side whom's eye balls pop and float, number eight's in its eyes. Do you ever take some lawn grass and smear it with a small amount of dirt on a white paper? That's it's hair, its skin yellow, purple, pink. Her hair outlined with orange, a pink spirally brain cloud floating in the distance in the background, lips messy and wild; the blue- purple teeth mangled and barely fitting with a soft pink tongue behind it.
Fin it says on the plastic.
Girl on left side with her purple eyes and red eyelashes, her face dirty and caucasian, her bust orange, her chest purple lined round cartoony breasts with bigger nipples, her arms outstretched with orange coils. Holding the purple baked pizza pie talking non filled comic book caption emitting from that's upper lip. The makeup as best it could be. In her, that green triangular empty carpet is her. She is, coming out of it. It's purple eyelashes dot perfectly and it's blue eyes aqua like perfect tropical oceans. The blueprinted imperfections of the gal either laying on her belly or in the green triangular rug, or: popping out of it because it is not solid or soft: but certainly not shapeless. Barely a nose, mostly eyes, plastic lips like a blowup doll for those whom are lonely. The arrow from it is pointing back now. The arrow is black with glows of green, pink, & yellow.
really is nothing
epilog:
a gross comet covering up some text no one wants to read anyhow. The grass is green and chaotic like a mow hark and the purple hairs roll thru too. There is dirt underneath There is dirt underneath the plastic. It is safe there
It is safe unknown how it got there. The secret lives of dirt.
stefan frederic walz 7.10.2016- 7.22.2016
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