_____________________________________________
On the banks of the weecheegeechee Stood Mona her fathomed fat feet. The Sutra of dharma becomings and the red yellow pink sweeter of pretty __ Pah! pretty vacant was the word and how apt it was the punk drums rolled them days pushing past the deafening river of its nihilistic rage
So entered existe existential proof becomings preordiamond property. The way to create was to created. If that made cents in the dollar whirled of its madcap drip dry suit. Wore a hat kept a bed, mailed herself upside down.
Ding dong!
the birds ring
_______________________________
_______________________________
There's a sentimental gush radio play on radio 1 from rte_ I saw their offices when i was over there __ and its larded with false quotes from Joyce. pathetic. these fillies are still imagining the past. how dreadful!
________________
