typhoid talk to the moon because it feels so good inside, a release, stress fading out through the modulations of sound waves 000613
god wolfpack 010219
robbie one~ my dog, when the siren, voluntary fire

two# the wind in the rigging, thats later

three* that'd be the white screeching noise of negative space that drives me
florescent firefly My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun.
My hunger for her explains everything I've done.
To howl at the moon the whole night through, and they really don't care if I do.
I'd go out of my mind but for you. Sister Moon....

steve dogs attack cats like a woman attacks her man! 010826
god My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

-- William Shakespeare 1564-1616
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