dovelackly paste! spit into my swarming ghosts. once, there was a duststorm and it knocked down all the pieces of the game and the lumbering licorice people had to retreat into the little knook gnook they called home. i say tomato. our gatherings are like ingesting piles of soma. lets go wading in pools where the fish are rare and pissed. lets decipher all the transitions between asphalt and grass; some are fluctuating and prepared, others are just plain rackety. do you see that buffalo formation in the clouds? you do? i don't know what else to say then. kiss me. 021009 ... squint rather like a spleen. 021009 what's it to you? who go blather from