a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Sunday, March 15, 2015
playstick, in mud
eyes at we, he is identity, ugh, or so I eyed too, vague, or so we'll have surgeons emote the extra, nom (nom), her face, and, chat room saddens.
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