Sunday, November 15, 2009
Oh holiest of days, most relaxing siesta of sabbaths. I find myself exhausted to the point where my exhaustion fails to exhaust me, leaving a worth of exhalation to be deemed most unsatisfied. The fumes of my carbon blueprint are that of waste in which life is born, but not to create the life in which fumigation poisons this once precious cycle, whereas we find ourselves playing as pawns against one another, in a fabric woven by our oral defocation.
No sleep + Xavier: Renegade Angel = What the fuck.
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