Thursday, April 9, 2020

free jam

Free jam free jam, we layed the microphone on tha ground and we danced around free jam ohhh yeahhh bb, we pranced & we ROmanced and we took the night away we made it day we made the sounds of the universe and we jammed and we rolled until we fell asleep in queensized beds that were comfortable and everything seemed just oh well y’know fantastic and we were four on the floor and the ground was drums and everything was liquor and pure scented and we were in love with the world and everything was harmonious and clear and equated a utopic experience; so we went to the store and got ice cream, drove home in our hotrod blasting some sped up Rage Against The Machine, sped to the point of PC MUSIC highs, the tweeters ping ponged like bullets made out of rain, tears, and sweat, & carbon, so we cartwheeled out of the convertible you had because I prefered hardtop persona, Later that day the next day I washed up from the tide along the sea shore that we lived by, luckily I was in my jellylike capsule and the air swelled like a WAH-WAH pedal potentiometer and the gale became even more lucrative;  the hourly dose of new clean money relief was upon us and they added some health-glitter into the mix: it was all very much and I felt dizzy. We went to get the weekly shrimp scrapolini or whatever it’s called and we were in tha new luxury coupe with all the bells and whittles, it was on aircushioned ryde & V8 engine configuration / tomato beverage sips because you know unlimited miles per gallon; so we all get out to the coffee shop that has the shrimp too and the waiteurs run out and spread the brie all over the car to y’know lather it up, and we sit outside on the checkerboard table playing chess watching how the pureple petroleum jelly mixes with the cheese. They finish with the gig and we roll on back full from the shrimps, the car all smoothened out by the jelly and the cheese; the wind bounces off of it and we hover into the unknown. 


Thursday, September 14, 2017


Piss in the ocean! Pervading sadness, a reluctant handshake, but a found permanent marker. Water boarding ska. The dog layeth down with dogmatic dogma dogmatism dogged a dog.
PINK WAX & endless bleeding…
No birthday checks sent this year… when is anything done anyway? A return to subjectivism. The “I” in my “ism” seems so problematic; anyway.
Slight bleeding
Slight warmth depletion
These lipids are benefitting me at this time and hour.
This time and hour old as soon as I close the pages.
I hope it bleeds together,
I hope it mends.
My cup of found pennies isn’t full either, goto the “Coinstar” anyhow.
These markers swell my eyes.
If it dont work, put a heavy beat on it, drop da’ bass, drop it like acid, you go down.
Inner hollywood name circles, name droppa, name keepr.
My hand shakes, my inners are rattling. Queezy easy breezy beautiful cover hurl.
Are you talking to me?
Cuz’ I’m not even talking to me,
Taking to me.
In a vacuum, a cold vacuum. & I’m hearing the calls from old iPhones that are shattered, bent, & cracked in2 pieces but I cannot remove my credit card and my iCloud data storage is now infinite while pulling from my finite resources,
Driving thru these early waves of snow, pulsating my eyes combined with velocity; the snow is the clouds being cut up & shaved.
No political gain, this coffee got cold quick and then it attained a fee anyhow, anyway.
Bathing in coffee
Bathing in automatic transmission.
These headphones become an automatic mic from my lethargic throat neck str8 to my brain. THE VOLUME IS NOW AT A  LEVEL described as dangerous for many individuals ear canals. A purple miscommunication. I hate Pinterest.
Peace In Rest
Sitting like a Matisse now; first one with the X eyes and softer big nose I guess, delicate red lips, straight green eyebrows, bleu hair; green tits upwards like twin peaks, a soft 1970s brown V-Neck sweater; text bleeding thru (see last paragraph). Second one with yellow sunshine horizon line barely making it thru, #7 nose, green emerald eyes, purple eyelashes, infinity symbol lips bisected, short sky blue hair with more yellow in it from the absent sun, straight slight curvature in eyebrows (same colour as haar), nose with a bend accent thru the middle to showcase its angle distraction; shit coloured mainly purple, red & green lines throughout; neck yellow- jaundice, with green indentations at the bottom.
A robot version now standt in, propped in the white void of graphing paper, a more complex version of the prior human illustrated; kinda Bauhausian in a way. The orient of the closet, fold it up; I once had an apartment with no closet, it was a bummer.
Orient dated.
Skinned ocean; yellow, oceanic DNA; god is a cross, god is across. Rotten. An endless amount of pressure in concrete. Yellow & mellow. Orange you glad you came Sky? Crossed out excrement, for proof that I am clean.
Pink victoria secret swamp ass m’rald, Victoriaz secretions (out of your) ass. Hard diagonal piss movement.
Time span moves
It’s slow
All else is sped
Crossed out.
A primitive fist coming at the vacant abstract void that spews an unlit cigarette, light blue shirt carefully inverting itself as its entrails spill out like stylized; all the while the triangle sun in the corner does nothing, except sit, like a monolith; vomit in the bottom left corner: dark green like a swamp; the left hand and arm outstretched: only pain is felt in this void of non.
The wine tastes good, materials are wasted, ascetical drunkards, esoteric esthetic hysterics, Snapple cyanide flavour, child property, halted hauntings of pen 3, rainy pause, CDr thrown in the snow, hate my spellings. Choke on your own vomit, nicoteen fingernails, everything smoke mist forgettings, no text mess age, a lot of glitter & flux, birth of shit, house bed (lost pen), oil pastel in my shirt, wax gravity.
Alien Up
That ghost alien float on in in on a paper straw wrapper glued to the page, glued with saliva while high on sativa, alive like the genie lamp with the fucked risky whiskey tramp, wrapped xmas tree, xmas tree prop.
Bloodshot weed eyes on acid, flowers grew on checkmarks backwards, blood red moon.
Around her eye, ajar.
She looks like a bird sometimes. But right now she feels like my Pokemon.

excerpt from that of a green3 notebook


Thursday, August 31, 2017

edition xx by claud cloud

just like the light
is the chaos
the vibrations destroy the sound you are creating
any visual, sounds
she laughed. "see ya later.", "later" saw ya. "saw.", later, you. dark room at 9 pm with a terrible fever, that odd sensation of the fact that you're a gross mess & barely wanting to talk to anyone.
a network of eternal judgement, can u hide ? a place to live on forever in, a shame archived for the masses. new edition. a mutation of what once was, purely by definition, free. there's a lot of things happening & none of them can be hid. do u remember that time u were on small forums w loyal communities & posts everyday & no one would disturb the process? maybe i do, but do u too ? an age where the last thing u can do is be free about it. faces buried behind gradient squares & paywalls, helvetica. no one wants to see what you do & neither do we. could you destroy your own identity? perhaps, sure. and the world laughs w you. an age beyond information, a highway of eternal perfection, self-assurance in the form of falsified "purity", whatever that may mean at the time. a place that once was to be explored, now is a place that someone could guide u thru. don't be afraid of the cash-grab malware, don't be afraid of anything. u're w us now, right? how much would u pay to be free? what is free? and you could live on forever if u leave traces that can be accepted. is it wanting to grow or wanting to be "pure"? and the world laughs w you.
everything dies within a cycle of pure disproportion
i am a trinity of perfect disorder
its every color being absorbed except yellow
the 20th edition of that one beatles single everyone is trying to hunt down for some reason. is this what it's about, right?
every sound exists in silence
you left me
is it expression of what you are feeling?
a system of relations can be generated by finding not divergence
including our conscious
perfection is decay
the lights flickered
a lot of things happening
in a color
i've been everywhere yet i've been nowhere
aren't i the enviroment?
the pro can stay the pro, but it can become a con
No, its rather a filter of this
i'm alright"
just as much as we are limited by our human body
and rather
it doesn't sound good
wall street collapsed & everyone cried
i'm a lot of people yet i am one
what is dance?
you have a lot of drafts, right? a solid terrabyte of 3-frame gifs and family photos, lost to time. have you felt proud of what you do here? have you felt proud of what you wanna do? how much guilt has a tweet ever got you? quite a bit, i'd bet. have you ever felt haunted? what are the consequences of being haunted? what is haunting?
the sky fell down & the ground went up
or is it?
long-abandoned mansions, covered in graffiti. roses & anarchist symbols. "FUCK RICH PEOPLE" carved out on a huge tree in what was a garden, it seems. that's the life someone wants to live at some point. someone lived it, but does anyone want it to end up like that? who the fuck cares. weirdass sigils stomped out on the grass. no idea of the origin.
i am walking crisis & i am the end
"imagined ship in a storm in the middle of a sunny day
instructions for two but i exist within many faces
is merely animating a unanimated space
sitting on a cloud waiting for a train to sail over the dust of ancient computers. trashed tech gathered in junkyards. take what you will but no one ever had the will. the ocean is full of plastic & an island of it swims across. corporations are a cult, money is the problem. whatever will lead to budget loss won't be guaranteed to work. trash the world & try to save it not knowing how. earth revamped. the humans are the immune system of the earth, maybe were. the system has been infected and is infecting the earth. now it shall be exterminated.
a painting is limited by its canvas
advertisement of the apocalypse
a voice
the air is every sound
yet, you realize the beauty of change
you've got a lot going for you within those walls, the smell of rotten flesh, decayed memories within the fountain of time
reconsider a few decisions & you've got another decision then you reconsider that decision, what are decisions? two of i but who am i? you fell into the sea on wings of solid wax. "good morning", said me to me. "good morning", said the sea. "good morning", said the morning. "morning", said the good. "good", said the morning. "the", said the "good morning". "decisions", reconsidered the decision. world of edit.
rotten flesh of a cyborg in the myspace page
but we are only stimulating parts of the entirety
the same shit i've read all over again & the same i've always been fed. the nice times i've pretended to have. that time my aunt came over & i had to pretend to have fun. ain't that every day. sat by the lake staring at the screen. a timeline constantly refreshing yet nothing that doesnt blur together. is the life?
i go thru cycles of blur within my own mind
it is merely not stimulated
cruising in a city i've thought up while drowning
for the nothing is everything when you think of it
stickers on the fridge forming divine shapes
i guess not all of us do our best everyday because the best differs person to person. there's no one else you should trust. and if the clock stops forever i'm sure i could laugh for eternities but at what? whatever.
too much to say too little time no consequences in particular to it really should i even bother w readability because i know that i won't end up anywhere here because really i'm just trying to say something here. 200 represses of the same shit, a market so oversaturated even the industry doesnt know what works. that cold fucking room, a plastic plant in the corner, perfectly sterile, uncannily sterile, at that, how the fuck. waited for maybe an hour straight for the A&R to ask who the fuck am i & give me the blandest lecture about presentation. is that really all there is to it? probably. not that i want to care. been staring at that painting in the corner in the lounge for a 15 mins solid before being caught offguard by a text message, the cellphone buzz, the ultimate vibe destroyer. eh.
i'm near the fucking end
for your shirt is not yellow
the con becomes the pro
the concept of music, poetry
i am faceless
i am a graveyard of dead tech in the lens of a burnt out sun
for you are using your body, and not your expression
you sure are much more than you seem, those videos aren't convincing enuff are they. pigeons outside. i've been wasting my life using shit that should make me deeply uncomfortable as a background. a perfect creative hellscape. 20 views. diving into depths.
but doesnt that sound strange?
it's just a URL thing. erase cache. erase yourself. erase history. who are you? cold felt evenings inebriated by half forgotten lights, the spirit is flowing, spiritual unity of abstraction for the study of conscious and/or the consciousness
everywhere anywhere and maybe you could live forever, anywhere & everywhere. anniversary since your death. been 20 years, exactly 20. yearly editions of the fakeass "we remember" memorial books. do they really? are you more than an event to them?
everything is happening
the truest sound
or anything for this matter
circuitbent toys planning an invasion. 2020. the overlords & the gods of the new time.
one of my goals is becoming my enviroment
a lot of things happening



Wednesday, August 23, 2017

FALC NORD TODF TOLL UNFOLD 01 - 07 (MINUS 02) by Joseph Sledgianowski



Cannot you tend too frain?

standing lean,
i'm not asking just too
because common accessed I need
some callus faulted love if thats truth

over settings over width
can you slander up justing font I see?
in a living stasis Im congested to withstain...

come on
grow up.
my height at lease
cant you evenly eat__?

Delete me from you fair shorts and young minted thought congestion
hit monstrous button border, such open oblivion must consult.

Im so said because I figured out somehow to talk
but recognize this is just type.
Im never further right.

Im dipping more and more towards a ' Ù '.
just inside and outside this me. My me. Minded me. Minding me.
Still understood my internalized ice situance-

Jodf Ludfh Sled



My dope wasn't so long,
but my sex percent fell over to load.
so nasty, owned down off things they have soaked
watts aphelion frowned upon,
but can't give me what I want?

What isn't it anyway?
I want for once again my last drop.
In my life, in world, my life again.
Darkened on lisp flickering samplicity.
Relief, release, relinquish was not my reliance resilience,
don toward re-inflation for reflexion
as so I´m the bore interest but so do not congest.

As so I´m happy only if I can´t care.
Even if resembles that.
So inform me to pass out,
but awakening makes me hold and I just want, just, and want.
Sleep again to remember.
Light realizing I can be left in the ending
I´m onset..?

Give it, or I can digest, I can't forget
a mindless nest but as asylum gist I need.
my sleep of day congestion reenactment -
so malpractice can conform into me again.
Consider re-malice and we can be friends again.

gain my flush, remind mourn as fortune,
inject of relinquish,
mind my insects to rinse.
I can´t sleep upon multitude once again.
850 BC again. And again.

Im asleep and reborn.
I´m infected and 850 BC is my placement.
As so continue reminders offset to build my forgotten conquest.
Prosperously left handles can congest.


Jodf Ludfh Sled



Along scan can never buy
you love of why
haven't I realized..

This congestion I inevitably, flow through
a trip around seldom the world
cleanex can be sold-

On gallant buy to lapse, piss
true lost can't diamond you
never buy alas die among a sentenced desire, how sense

flake too cool as i'm off from
whichever of my worlds I visit today.
Id gladly, and ease,
and fool as usual my assumption.

Can bring you mint rigs
too guessed again,
the world of nod and constancy

loving means,
formal sessions among databasic congruence.
Please ole hold mist of fright
oh, but I don't care.

Cashed for lance and atom plex.
ions forks and dispersion
where is a notice-
might in mind sect. And so?

Can't my lapse insect
bite dis strung fixed dick of pearl under matter...
Between who is true from some who cant enlighten for frightening; consistence;
rant toward mines trait a censor of leftish ole sting
of antiques (antics)
can we do this again_?


Jodf Ludfh Sled



Just into hold me
I don't like or care much
in thus as of my hold
i'm a prisoner of drug use
those assumed lawed over drugs

so seldom off just pure theocratic

i'm set for demanded to hold. to their walls.

my seen maze.

daily maze of my own. main maintained rose.

just call it the sidewalk.
maybe for just a concrete street created for my legal drive...
as in welt on and long, you're of site, in sector, foul cir.
shun along caucus circum-
I took too long, and turned on to alive.
alas entry off still,
torn stow, introspective throne from back then on wall.
All in alt, hail thus musk settled over thrown stained light, not leaned.

My cloud cannot bare to mal, decoyed flare of mind.
Onset and set to thrust upon oblique obelisk scenes into pointless.


Jodf Ludfh Sled



Money aspect flange,
and I need new friends
love I cant love ringing off
burning my swept paint
anything mine is reply to me my rely soul. Is that real or adjust
ringing from all off directions_?

My interior appetite
be causing me to be
although I oppose lent never thus indulged in such

dont order, in floe me
and not informant emitted confidence assumption cant
I not so laugh on through
my true love is not then thus
my notice in hand to remind me against
I just want to get fuck away from
and awake from me
as in a wake of my own but self
as seen above from a care or fault
I cant think of happiness proof in any reasoning
ill look at last indoors and beneath
any on day barely
base on


Jodf Ludfh Sled



I just what you needlessly-
-but I need less often my once malice
im in the last
in at last
of an essential
of what a settling of distance complexity unsensicle nonsense
lessen callus
just call or say goodbye
yes you must schedule, call my secretary,
I cant make this last
I can end a beginning
begin my ending and squeeze in the irreverence
unfortunate intermission
only 2 acting sessions to bring it out and into
cause me to finish...
because I need my credit


Jodf Ludfh Sled


Thursday, August 17, 2017

Voilefähig révision de drei. Txt by Stefan Frederic Walz

  • 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.
    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.
    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
    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.
    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.
    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.
    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.
    "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
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.
    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.
    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.
    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.
south america
    Afrika. some
    some sort of
content in being alone content in being nothing
    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.
    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.
    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.
    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.
    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
    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

    stefan frederic walz 7.10.2016- 7.22.2016

free jam Free jam free jam, we layed the microphone on tha ground and we danced around free jam ohhh yeahhh bb, we pranced & we ROm...