ironics and 24 emotions

the levels of care which go into any system, are subverted by entopy and death, how? is one to lead to the other, lead up, lead on, lead lead, lead pipe? to look to ones strengths over a shoulder which wouldn't cry on you given the fintestimal chance of an even sorts luck, oddly is where discoveries are faked and made, forgotten for the purposes of, etc. a frame of thought - like those 24 of a motion camera, where the stillness seems to come to live, on a photographic element spinning tight on a sprocket, while they dance, eh deeta. its oddly unjust that which, is a collection of other people's ideals, slightly twisted, and lingered like a rotton peach on the summers eve, etc. but here we do find, a sliver of shiver, neigh sleigh bogget trinket. we do notice, as in the notices of outward and the exchanges of across, and under, perhaps thought to be over, yet known to be-midst, grounding light wobbled like a slight exchange of property, ion oooze thought to be in the wrong part of town at the right time, left to its own devices, one summerizes and experience through pop culture, a simple repetition that makes young girls dance to the tune of, and bands of youth electric sell their alleged to play along with somebody elses tune, fear not. the voices inside, are not quite there yet, as niet, would say, only on the cursory glance. so. we have head to toe, like the shampoo, but not as flaky, silky softened, milk encrusted, moo tang, gafunk. we could really go on and on, and we do. love like i do, for the creature soft shelled, that is myself, and the engineer behind the curtain, lipton tea. this is what's known as aliteration and as we search for the word, spectrum, spagmotic, yay we don't need the word, but like a jpeg the noise is only evident by a thourough decoding, and even then, just - for the visible does not need to trick the eyes with data. if only it were a gif. tell me more. two strings meet in the middle of a park. they tie just one end together, for that's all they have, then they walk in opposite directions, but nothing is holding them dear, so they start to turn, and involve everybody else who spins and turns away from them, until they cog it up, like a halloween gag puppet, or so to speak, the only evidence is the color of their string, and how even it overlaps. the tension is musty, and the string will it not be intighed, but slightly worn and frayed, perhaps sometimes attempted to snip, though through trickery, it is invisible. and so. this is how string is made in the first place. by unwinding something else for the repurposes of a temporary temporal just. you may wind up a package, or a toy, and let it go, and let it rust, just, but hey we don't make metal toys for kids anymore - they're plastic so we can pretend better. no cries from the ocean yet, there's nobody there. or so it would seim. the platonics platetechno-tronics, by chronics, are simple and offset by land and heir, err'd slightly by a bit which thinks through, and acts badly, as if to say not-it. its it pie was, is, will be a san francisco teasure island of milky haze, or perhaps chocolate discovers the soul, and endorphins swim justly towards and exit. lexical ironics is this word play here - see the string again, if you follow it is cursive, cursed up, a curse no less, is more, and it was once said, to be made into a million curses would damn the world, and it just didn't - or so the slip knot would say, and the boat knot, tied the yaght rock to the man and made it drink, pour liquor. so we have another word, koosh, yes, that toy that.. well.. its just a toy, don't mind it but to play. so back and forth to health. it is the summation of the current exercise, to denote, that which does not work once, as observed as once, will turn sideways, and that which is neither overserved, turns over, and thrice fully on exit, or continued free willingness, may just, throw a small party off the coast of eastanbul. and it may be going on. and across, partly cloudly, no rain expected, light drizzle, of caramel toffee cake, or was it the fairy cake, which is neigther light or goodness. it is some and all of these, plugged into a machine that was meant for a smaller or larger room, depending on a preference. preferences open, slightly up neat and twisted lemon shaken tobbled hobbly, and muddled like a coat you may lay down for a women to trodden, mind the back and forth, as they do in the 50s, a hobble time indeed, filled with elixers of promise, and the warback machinery to just wake people up enough to begin a new day, day, after day. do you dream in color? of course not, we're dreamening with you, spacially, find your noise - dither hither, as the color spectrum is not always millions if you live in a box, in the 80s. where blocks move byte at a time and steps are maths to change 2s into 4s, 8s, 16s, 32s, etc. to multiply and divide, by shifting over one standing at just the exact place, with a bag of chips perhaps. this is not the cycle of heedance, however required by the bodies which make them go, clock ticked up. discreet component special wedged in beauty by the creator who wishes he edges to be clean, and the holes filled, using every pin as even, oddly, a ground wire, or future data pipeline promise. that's all I know. that's all as in soap, the bubble round, not like the fatty kind, but more of the happy non-gluton non-calfed non-dentrite, fluid made from yes, and created just, and in time, we do carry it forward. not to a front line, but a sort of, yes, bubble sort, perhaps to learn, until we find the ladders. and latters. so. a guy walks into a bar. he greets the bartender with a tip of his hat, his wallet, his glance, a nod nod into the drink, and another, and before you know it, before it later, and later is the man, late for something he forgot and in the late late, show, indeed, as the sun rises, trickery no fool would allow, for to walk the planet takes the some of ease, and standing just here. and there. and dared to say it, so we didn't, woo. and what of the bartender, with all these tips, some casual, some spend thift, well, as in one, she does it again, for herself even, to keep it even, keel, 'd over and over. its a wonder we bother to clear it. the h's and 2's and o's don't fancy her either, if that is her sex. the remanant of an unbalance portion of rotton apple, finds its way to the top, and out, by displacing water, to the ground, as she agreed to do, while escaping into the lungs of a fledging mass incardia, and so that goes. of course she uses a V in her name, to sexily defy and divide, like the maths again, water in its right place, she may think to herself, and it sounds like. y. hook line winker. silly bulls again in their tea shop breaking things. mad cow disease for an animal that wouldn't ponder its way out of cellular injustice in a million years, if we had that kind of time for dinner. the memories follow, a song justiced is barely that, cold and trodden like a plank of wood into the ocean for displacing another man's hairy ale. he was sent there too. treasure for. . . whom? .... end up on a down note and follow it across a leasion of leasure, to be sure, reception is a funny word, not like hah hah funny, but radio played on a microscope, from a wall outlet, at a dinner party, woken not stirred, to re-sieve, as in the plonker a top cap into the, bottle with a mast half risen. hum. .... the preceeding was not a droughten dotter nonsense, focal lengtethed for the woven treasure of pleasurable denotation, demarked, embarked, debarked, barked up, piddled on, rover and over, hilly yet sensory, recoiled, for a rotary dialed in metropolitan digit, the kind of kind which repeats on a switchboard, unboard, word plays the electric. ooze. from the isle of wake. this is aqua q. and just a gluey nuon for smattering solarization equalization, and triangulation, isotropics, and isosolese rewritten for the ages of 12 and up. contains small parts, some assembly required. zed x ffjjggllzkson.