[ just talk about nothing, let's talk about nothing.]

a febrile shocking violent smack and the children are hoping for a heart-attack, tonight the windows are watching, the streets all conspire, and the lamppost can't stop crying.
if i could fly high above the world, would i see a bunch of living dots spell the word stupidity, or would I see hungry lover homicides, loving brother suicides, and ally ally oxenfrees, who pick a side and hide?
the world is scratching at my door, my morning paper's got the scores, the human interest stories, and the obituary, oh yeah.
cockroach naps, rattling traps, how many devils can you fit upon a match head? caringosity killed the kerouac cat,
sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
cradle for a cat, wolfe looks back, how many angels can you fit upon a match? i want to know why hemingway cracked, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
life is the crummiest book I ever read, there isn't a hook, just a lot of cheap shots, pictures to shock, and characters an amateur would never dream up.
sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

sinto-me sucinta ultimamente.