a_land_of_less paste! out where the raving coachmother burns lungs for sakeo, there is little soil and very little light. the purple headress now liquifies and splatters her face like molten sardines shooting from kettles of grape jam. sakeo had no choice but to settle in a vast landfill of tumbleweeds, land-to-air artillery and empty mascara tubes. you couldn't catch any sort of fever. there were no dice, literally, metaphorically, however you will. they say that when a whale loses its idea of the ocean, it tries to leap into the moon. they'll wait days for the sun to set just for that one moment. the whale will avoid time horribly, like an arrow buzzing by a sleeping head. the whale needs little soil and very little light. on the anniversary of the exploding larvae, the moaners begin removing their eyes with turkey basters. 020701 ... 8 removing their eyes with turkey basters. 041024 what's it to you? who go blather from