[

Moving my feet to the side that i
haven't seen, across the softly
staring feelings, untying the
bloody crops of my sequence.

And some steeling ventiles are
squanishing to the perfect way
of my simplified wishings
but some of them is still trying
to object it's existing in a
world of naturality.

Something's creeping around the big
squeezing mosquito.

What would happen one page further?

For good droppers' sake, just
ignore that view and
go straight to the end of the net.

And if you're living just in a
fantastic virtuality, you couldn't
be after me tomorrow morning.

It's quite a perfect thing, you know,
that everything's going that
way that you can't have it, but
you certainly know it is.
And the world outside this head
is always spinning around the same
fuckin' stuff and you hear
it's steps to the next level,
to the board-city of
your inadequate subconscience
and if i'll close my eyes,
if i'll have a strange-sleepless
time after the beginning of
concatenation of the different
ground pieces,
i could visualize every
single movement moment of
the great living-battle of
a strange substances like
ice or fire-burning around
my neck.

That slinky Woody Woodpecker, you know,
he always thinking twice before
he drops his tear-bottle
to one's hand of weakness,
but he thinks sometimes very
quickly and you
can't just realize where is
the moment, you're looking for
and it occasionally happens that
you're coming a great
dumb-minded funny bubble
of his tear-dropper, you know..

That's what i've been thinking
about all that stuff.

]