i had a momentary fascination with electronic drumbeats, lyme disease and roots of words, today. especially, aleatory and solecism. corresponding meanings are random and ungrammatical. i am a fan of the concept of randomness. for some tremendously odd reason, the imagery of chaos is an orchestrated, romanticized thought chromatic in the deepest venule of my existence. i have been thinking about randomness, a lot, today. unaware of three spilled coffee drops on my pink checkered shirt, a trickle on my threadbare denim, a design on my Keds. shuffling between that and my non-affiliated embodiment of a pro-spiritual, anti-constructivist.
this probably stems from my being a rebel child. a violent, unkind boy at the age of 6, stabbing my sister with a sharpened pencil, disturbed, bemused and unbridled. persistent in the juxtaposition of carelessness, queerness and motivation, the defense mechanism of violence; i have perennially outgrown a soliloquy of emancipatory motives. i have vouched for sexual emancipation, erotic symbolism and polygamy, since i was twelve. rooted in an anti-classicist, shedding reason on the tendency of mammalian carnality, i have advocated for an unconventional incredulity, barking to the passers-by. marilyn escaped the season of sex.
reminiscing the face of krenaline, my bold and valiant lover. asleep behind a shadow. celebrating a time of fair togetherness. with cocoa, fruit and neuroses. with a bucket of my strange psychedelics, hallucinated upon by the whims of colic, reaching out to you. with a tear of dissonance, a breach of distance, parody of those electronic drums. i miss you krenaline. come back to me.
this probably stems from my being a rebel child. a violent, unkind boy at the age of 6, stabbing my sister with a sharpened pencil, disturbed, bemused and unbridled. persistent in the juxtaposition of carelessness, queerness and motivation, the defense mechanism of violence; i have perennially outgrown a soliloquy of emancipatory motives. i have vouched for sexual emancipation, erotic symbolism and polygamy, since i was twelve. rooted in an anti-classicist, shedding reason on the tendency of mammalian carnality, i have advocated for an unconventional incredulity, barking to the passers-by. marilyn escaped the season of sex.
reminiscing the face of krenaline, my bold and valiant lover. asleep behind a shadow. celebrating a time of fair togetherness. with cocoa, fruit and neuroses. with a bucket of my strange psychedelics, hallucinated upon by the whims of colic, reaching out to you. with a tear of dissonance, a breach of distance, parody of those electronic drums. i miss you krenaline. come back to me.
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