the_running_of_the_ghosts paste! This is the incorrect way to eat a ripe orange. A gang of bats is surfing on a gust that began in your lungs. And then the pie chart – you represent a cross section of the eye, the part that sees the bitter eagles and the misinstruction. The waves of apparitions transfer through the magenta parcel of this here heart and come out the back. The beacon floats in the ocean and is accompanied by some harsh recognition of a nearby archipelago as if it was comfortable in its little private salt spray hydro-flogging versus recourse from isolation sizing up its task force to anchor in the chasm. Paying attention to the ropes at the credit union, or the placebo of habitual monotony to disenchant the intellect from stepping in as late-round firepower. That’s the spice rub, but not the ready flesh. Just pretend to be a grasshopper and not throw yourself around a little. It’s that tooth about teeth that tugs on the earlobe and you want it to last until the next challenge. And handling these fragile items sliding across the roller pins is definitely about letting them fall into that video-game pit with spikes like evolutionary pylons Nobody buys land instead they track dirt into the homefront spiced with industrial strength glue so nobody gets out without a proper spectral analysis. Who is strung to be real? Who is real good at what they leap into? You twilight honey come to me sit on my lap and tell me a story about what you discovered today 021104 ... . . 041204 ... sab paste! i love you 050606 ... () (this is the longest blathe by paste! that i have ever seen) 080902 ... dafremen I miss reading paste. He's better at communicating profound notions with nonsense than any writer I've ever read. 080903 what's it to you? who go blather from