Sealed

On the dark side of things I have thoughts, but I'm usually on the bright side which is good, both for my own health but more importantly because the dark side can be analyzed in all these ridiculous manners — and while potentially revealing, they do not dominate my thought processes, so they aren't real. I mean, no, they could be real but let's face it, only the majority is real.

Drifting, your scent escapes me. Why is the base of our project so obsessed with this single issue? I guess it was due, I mean no, there's no more regular scheduling. The regular scheduling era is over, now we're into the blue moon era, and that sucks. That really just blows.

All the condensation.

The Golden Market

Stack dump { ggpiATISka }.

Bombay, Bombay, come in Bombay... "Eash! I need you to lubricate the bottom of my teflon pan with some grease from the gears of my favorite amusement park ride." Bombay...I'm sorry, what was that? I'm sorry. What? Oh. It's not Bombay anymore, they changed their city's name. Mumbai, come in Mumbai, oh. Hi. Listen I am going to make a quick omelette, I will be back before you can say ...
In the purple market on Ambedkar, golden light suffused the street. All the brown dirt being kicked up by those Age of Empire carts played perfect complement to the already complementary gold light piercing women's purple fabric. The color of the wood on the carts won the Sixth Man's award even though in some circles it placed as high as third (the point guard, for some).
But what stood out most at this ridiculous Hollywood set was the crime that had been committed down one the faux-alleys. It was dark enough there, obviously they couldn't afford that trashy commercial golden light for every square inch of the set. A man had been _______ and was bleeding from the neck. "Eash, where the fuck is my amusement park gear grease? Say, would ya look at that...looks like a river of highly oxygenated blood. These people."

Noose Kerosene Suffusion: Part Five, Punishment

Stack dump { dysurvbbcu } - pure sex.

Modern-day appellation incantation (for muses). Who sets your boundaries? Teresa of the strong will, I'm going to come into your city inside a Trojan horse. Oh, for the love of god I forgot to adjust for magnetic north. That's going to shift us about one Mediterranean Sea to the laughed. You're not laughing.

So here we are with the yellow rice, where's the red vest, Teresa? Teresa? Great, I left her in the behind. Nothing? She's all the way there and I'm here, sigh, alas, that's all there is to it.
Between the bridge girders I noticed something funny about my skyline. That's all I'll say since the only aim was to establish ownership. Yeah it was really hot, and that's fine. Bumblebees are the ultimate punishment dispensers, and that's what I fucking need.

Maybe getting punitive will heal my wounds. I need a framework to worth within. Maybe punitive measures will help me create boundaries. Perhaps the rich imagery Teresa gives me under my SilverLight will inspire the masses. More likely, however, is that what is corporate will always be perceived as corporate to the masses in their bubbles. Inappropriate labeling leads to misunderstandings and bratty obstinacy.

She represents the world on a warm summer afternoon. She evokes a fever fount of inspiration which blasts through bottlenecks, accelerates mental acuity, destroys tedious rationality, and stretches usually unused vessels. She wears casual clothing yet elicits formal, visceral responses. Where is that bridge? Twilight is approaching...get the black car and the steady-cam - the lights are about to flicker just south of adagio.

Time-Tested Licensing

Stack Dump { s&wfca3eb }.

Fundamentum

Avoid sanguine conceptions of prefatory material at all costs. They destroy lucidity, inspire rage, and are at best, marginal. Similarly, parenthetical data denies accessibility for the members of your audience whom you should highly regard. Blend sardonic, first-person observations with unnecessarily abstruse sentence constructions which achieve surface complexity. Inject riff-writing and riff-thinking - it's what the brain was programmed to do, and since it's a path of least resistance, I'll think I'll take it. The permutations are, of course, finite. Irregardless, there's a pretty explicit gradient despite the illogical negative prefix. This is not just rhetoric, it's law, and it's going to help me build my vast multimedia autobiography.

The plans...perfunctory, the palette...

Ahab's Future World

Stack dump { smbnntd }.

Slow-mo blood splattered stuttering, that's what we feel like around those types of people. In order to remove the bottleneck, a whole barrel of high-risk, invasive surgery is required. What a fucking shame. These days.

Sluggin'

The second iteration has a vague echo, but for the most part we're talking about the same thing. We're doing the same exact thing. All of our decisions are identical, we are clever composers. Indeed, 1985 was an extremely, extremely important year. It was our big break. March hymns and upbeat electronica inspired our lives.
Oh, how long can a charade last? Pretty long, apparently. That is the nature of a circle, you know, what goes around comes around. In due time, the pendulum swings and if you're standing where you were the last time it came around, you're going to get knocked out. Unfortunately, that's the nature of justice in this world. Fortunately, everyone drones around dumping sediment all over the next guy's alluvial plain - rarely incurring the wrath of the forward-swinging pendulum of justice. And that is what I have to show, [16.3], thanks.
I want to create a vast multimedia autobiography, but the multi keeps growing. I want to index it, but it's slipping from abstraction (which can't be a bad thing, I guess). Ya see, statements like that are going to get me in trouble. I must resist such things. Stack dump { smbnntwp }. A vast, multimedia autobiography. Unless you're straight with us, things will never change.