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This is daily thinking, daily inventing, and fictional stories to share through blogging. |
| "What shall be known onto us humans when the time arrives for us to divide and stretch our lemon heads towards a greater future?" |
| I desire command over the functions of the keyboard, dulled without proper voice, and challenged onto directions unknowingly pestering me. The main confusion settles as wet fluids sufficed over a hot grilled fire balanced without comfort or direct intentions shifted like boring antidotes, supremely investing in the tragic cause. John was like these, sedated in his memories, dreams, and flowing functions to survive the daily living lights that pestered his entire mind, subsequent and consecutive. I endure the possibilities conjuring living souls to hesitate in conversation with the living---The grave has opened up from the earth countless times each day the grave swallows them whole, sheltering them in the darkness which investigates their priorities. “I must remain as silent as possible, or else the ears of my families inheritance shall hear, and take notice of me in the darkness of this household in the confounds of the nightly embrace,” I wrote with dedication, shifting from terror to write in former chances throughout two weeks, and mumbling on-wards again without mention of the natural order. “What comes afterward when the shouting has laid, the downward trodding horse ceases his activities, and the rider becomes certain that there is something most dreadfully investive in his life that he must accept change in Christ Jesus, or be swallowed up in the earth, separated from God, oh! What horrors does invade my mind?” The greatest horror I think of and believe is that nature is the horror of separation from the Creator. Nonetheless, a human wouldn’t understand his standards compounded against the rising flesh must contain crucified, never to resurrect again; all the while we stand in the cross, stand on the climbing tree, and refuse to applause the Christ unless advantage is our given nature. So, as time continues to chime like chaff in the disordered wind, I become available to John, who commanded me to upset the natural order with the demonic version of confusion. “Who could tell the difference?” he said, astonishing me with his vibrant vibe. “You won’t find it easier any other way.” More romantic scenes must be aided and stated. Coffee is well and measured without the discontent of hardened winter “I must wise-up and rise from the grave through the Lord Jesus Christ, my King, my teacher, my savior and friend, who has invited me to contain the heavens and produce protection over the blood of saints! Is this not the remembrance contained in dreams, when the man finishes his ultimate sentence, begs for pardon, and contracts a disease known to Americans as the night within a life of direct invitation to sin with horrible sounds mitigating throughout the streets? “Foolishness, Dante. We must embrace the blood of our father, or there be little reasoning to abide in this tragic world. Perhaps the demon world has more comfort, besides this world was our father’s home.” Vergil looks abashed, slashes his brother's hand outstretched, and falls into the chaos and depths of the ruined raised hell of the homeland. Dante sees him, no more. Dante approaches the edge of the entrance to the demon world and examines that the world is downtrodden, and loads himself to leave the location with haste. Several tears format over the lids of his eyes, substations to educate his remorse for his fallen brother. Even demons will shed a tear for a lost member of the relationships in the considered family. Silence is bound in chains, sufferable chains of steel which become cold in the deepest compartments of the prison's night; despair and anguish symbolize the fortune and unfortunate all the same in a casual embrace, never comforted or filled with aid; never surmised towards hope, the dawn does engage a prescription to the prisoners with some vivid stance at freedom. But John remained consistent to the dreams, unlike his fellow inmates who starched their nightmares with sexual desires, bustled modes of rape, and murderous intentions confounded in direct applause of the dreams John remembered as memories, like slashing a dense wall of fog with a double-edged sword. Within reach of his tail, he massaged the ends of it and felt the smooth hair that disordered his entire sensational feel for motions, feelings, and sensations. He covered the lower half of his body with sheets from the comfort of the mattress, made-well and starched with desire, decided to fondle with his penis, masturbating in curious hints but came to realize the realities of his options. He decided it best to remove his hand from his crotch, and, instead, take his whistling mouth the dreams ladled about the prison system, formatting dreams of all sorts of fantasies, based on his noncognitive entrance to the humans below, above, and his right and left, sleeping dreadfully inappropriate. Each man locked in their dreamest confusion, slept with a sound mind, cornered in the darkness of their cell. “Oh, what could occur to them that hasn’t been done onto others?” he whistled, further advancing his analog musical to the slumber of these men who when day brightens, their eyelids become uncomfortable, their hearts awaken into a normal state, confounded into the same routine become men of monstrous intake, but asleep is like the easiest prey to abide into food. “it’s almost like taking candy away from a baby birhted into the world with no hands,” he thought, remorseful of his ideals and beliefs to conquer the dream world. “I believe I need to rest oneself, find the treasure hidden in their hearts, and let it out onto other humans. Can monsters dream, too? You bet,” he stated. “You can’t figure out much without demanding some trust in these people. They’re kept here for a damn reason. Their mainstream ideals are vivid and concentrated onto all humans who dare to object to their curiosities of murderous intentions? These humans will look at a man, tell themselves, “Ah, but he is a murderer,” and I will answer, as I look down on them from the clouds, “You have murdered within the mind, as well, friend.” Acid reflux initiated into his throat, caused him to belch with mild content, and he made due to what concerned him the furthest advancement towards creational ideas. “You humans do abide in such mediocre contexts, all without an ample reason to abide but the surest bid to allowance. You humans can solve clues left behind, nurtured like ravens, and blocked like trolls underneath bridges of ancient cities, landed to extract a proper meaning of the world. What does American heritage do to exact a perfection known to have died for the cause of love?” John leaped from his bed, dressed in his attire, and removed several bits of stomach acid from his bowels through the confidence of his mouth. The taste of meat and changed direction caused him to become bitter in the sense of casual arousal. “You humans know nothing of literal suffering,” he said, his head down in the toilet bowl. “An odd location to be throwing up this vileness!” He waited and waited until all the bile was removed. “Foolishness!” he sat straight up, leaning into his backward development to pertain not to blech, and, feeling the sensations of normalcy, he walked to his bed and sat on the end, heavy and filled with doubt. “Talking to myself like an idiot,” he wondered. He appeared like a statue of the thinking man, decisive in his nature, and pressing his closed fist onto his chin, which he mounted the other hand, too, and said, “What can be done for dreamers tomorrow, and on-wards onto the next time the sunlight reaches their windows and brightens the shades? What would I care and know to be so based?” John demanded his words to remind him, to abide in nature; he makes love to the sunlight at the break of dawn, the sun's circumference, and annihilation both overtaken with mere words. “The sunshine not rise and remind humans to live on,” he said. But of course, without direct motivation, the sunshine did rise and resurrect without him to allow his ideas to become a sense of realities relapse. He did not recount his blessings into the sunshine, made sure to remain constant to his thoughts, and broke from the entrance, entering into the doubtful location known as the halls of Chaos, where the Thunderbird Ares was waiting on his recliner outlooking the Atlantic Ocean, far into the Eastern borders of Man. “Don’t think about coffee at the moment,” He reminded himself. “If I think about a beverage or any sort of food, I shall surely think straightforward and return, unite, with the formations of their longings and their desires placed on an altar where I must kneel and become repulsive without pride to damage me.” As he reminded himself of the future things to come, he bustled himself on his bed and confused his mind with the breaking straight pointed directions of the sunlight now entering into his cell with a deranged fountain of pouring waters. “Rain?” he said. “Of course, sunshine not obtained, nor shall it fade, but can be made a shield with dark clouds remerging from the nakedness of the entire earth.” He smiled. “I love to talk to myself with absolute consistency.” “What can be done for the human race, besides the same horse races that staunch their interests? Sureness does invade me, causes me to believe in the insufferable little puppet I had become, more so a small animal, childish, and filled with spiritual cores and raging passion confined and resulted without measure and endurance. What will become of me and of the woman I adored with life and all that was in it?” Surprised to feel his unconsciousness baffle his shoulder with wild curves and motioned hair struck desire, John removed himself from his cell and whistled further into the darkness of the morning blue awakened state of the world. “Another time,” he said. “And I’ll start to trot down the ally of memories lost to the confinement that this world does entrench me to believe.” John walked with a brisk movement as he passed the locked cells of each of the bars, mandated the cell holders sins, confined him into his dreams. John didn’t like the idea, nor the formulation that came and conducted itself each night for these men of lost dominance. But, as John motioned further and further to the last cell, he balanced his mind and said, “Hectic love, these humans are oh’ so adorable.” “Relax, coffee is almost close to me.” He bounced from the end of the hall, entered a white room with school education posters attached to the walls, and noticed the coffee brewing on the table settled like a counter beside the wall. Before the black-colored coffee machine were three laid-out sugars directed into three packets, and on the dose of cream was an ounce of mineral cream for the coffee embrace. “Thanks, Susan.” He thanked and as he asked, there were three coffee mugs available beside the blackened pot filled to the brim with natural coffee. It wasn’t the coffee that he liked, but the main ingredient: “Caffeine is the course of man’s nature, evolved to love this hectic nature.” John poured the prepared coffee into a white mug, snuck his fingers underneath the handle, and leveled in a balance stature to drink the coffee. It ran with such vividness that the domination of masculine and feminine trust did become an opportune sensation worthwhile, blocked not with hatred but love for all humankind. Susan made sure he had his coffee in the morning; each night of dream walking, he needed his daily dose of caffeine to remain active throughout the longing winter hardened thoughts a day. “Once more, you’ve done well for yourself, Suke.” John named Susan ‘Suke because she appeared more like his dead sister than most would contemplate believing,’ though she dampened to hate the nickname because he enjoyed the joyous retrieval of her demeanor and circumstances. She was the probable nurse of this functioning prison, whatever reason, it was declared that Susan, or Suke, a female in all manner, not that hint of diverse inheritance of mental illness that prolonged her stay from the comforts of a casual visitation, forwards into a long domination of the males in her direct invitation for a doctor in degree. |
| Trisha demands herself to remain constant to leaving the household---she will not leave me alone. She continues to berate me with her ultimate venue of kindness that surmounts cared hearts through devotion. I have educated the best worms to understand a sensitive and softened touch. She touches me with incentive sensations. Within limited reason, though I sink into the fleshed concern for debate, I can not interpret fun and fantastical chance all in one head course, but I can endure the functions and believe. “What can I do; what could I do?” I embrace the national count of the American voting registration permits. I decline to tell, “I am confused at the matters of modern prominent views and abstractions. I refuse to understand the meaning behind civil unrest or the Police offense. Democrat cities maintained but have lost their minds? The main issues of town can be managed without those who command weapons to abide and protect? How can mankind be demented without casual cause or concern abashed in creative influence? Isn’t that what all this is? Some kind of measure to bring back the dead and confess the sins of mankind through these sins not be there? Who demands such atrocious based realities? I find the construction of this mansion morose and sardonic inside nature. The stairs ascend without the promise of graduated footsteps to be riffled or step on, and the basement does invite strange noises. In this mansion, I wonder what happened here, this direct motivation to bring about the third cold war. None saw visions, nor did their hearts beat blooded heat. Yet, with all casual love in the world, I sufficed belief onto the rumored countenance of the fields outside the mansion exterior. “Promise me,” I demanded the little one. “Promise you’ll never entreat yourself out there in those fields. You must promise me.” “Of course, daddy. I won’t disobey.” “Good. Pinkie-promise?” “Yes,” she fingered out her little forethought finger. We shook each other's pinkies with a direct influence to correct our sidepiece embrace with natural love. I love the small one here. This daughter of mine shall become the sweetest little child I shall ever come to understand and know. She will become interested in the fields, even when the voices from its interior challenge her to the invitation. “No matter what, okay?” I said. “No matter what,” she answered, copying my voice the best she could. “Don’t worry, daddy. I won’t hurt the fields. I’ll stay in the house anyway. I don’t much like the cornfields.” “I don’t either,” I said. “But your mother adores them.” I noticed the shades were becoming clearer, more dominant in the fields, within the texture of the green grass blades, shadowed with the shades of the clouds and the skies. “It’s time to go inside. Let’s hurry, mother will be cooking something good.” “I think it’s pot roast…” I sighed. “Your mother loves pot roast, doesn’t she?” Dawn nodded her small head, her black short hair over the brow of her black eyebrows. “I love you, daddy.” “Dearest, I content to love you as well.” We held hands and walked to the front porch of the household. As Dawn entered the house, I looked back, still on the porch, and aided to examine the shades formatting into different shadows the white blighting daily living lights were gone. The vanishing thoughts persuaded me to say outwards, “Don’t come into this household. Through the Lord Jesus Christ.” I closed both eyes, “amen.” and I awakened the lids wide. I turned into the door, the threshold, and escaped the outside world. “What achieved positive influence is a burden but on the cross shouldered of massacres and terrible decisions? The world demands itself become true, prominent in characters and the atmosphere, but I annihilate the ideals of Mankind with a broken shaft, swung onto a blade that surmounts the cuts more in-depth than a standard combat knife. Outwards from the dreams and inwards into the claustrophobic deities that make the world shine without light, concerned into default ears and mouth, and nose to breathe, invite death onto the user who commands them to submit their findings and discoveries in the regions made known to our location. “Jane, I said don’t fix that shit. You can’t be thinking about death all the time. You need a different portion in life, perhaps I should take you to church. There we can achieve greater astonishment through Christ, and become viable members of the church. To be known in the church, to be free.” “I decline,” is all her determined, lame brain decided to tell. “You decline?” I said after thirteen seconds withered away like chaff in the wind. “You decline…” once more. “You are being unfair to me, and that little Queen in the back room. She’s afraid of this place. Yet, we still succumbed in money finances to bring this place up to date, and now you are acting like your mother did when she passed away.” “Don’t talk about my mother,” she answered. “You don’t know anything.” “I know that she wanted you to remain a witch. And,” I approached her, she stressed from me. “I don’t mean a bitch or anything. I mean an actual witch. You can’t be doing this while I’m attending the Church, okay?” “You don’t understand anything anymore." she and I both remained in constant silence. She cut bread from a loaf with a modern knife. I toned the reflection of her eyes within the mirrored edge. She said to break the silence, "I liked you more when you didn’t believe in God.” “I understand the basic love of God now that I am reading the Word of God, which I do believe is the truth. I teach Dawn each morning, afternoon, and evening. I don’t like how you never want to interact with her. She’s looking for her mother, and she is typing away on the computer all day. You think that’s alright?” “Back off!” she snarled. “You don’t think I’m not going through pain? She isn’t even mine, and you are deaf most of the time that I can’t even think straight.” “No one can read your mind, damn it.” “You don’t understand. I know they can’t, but my brain thinks that they can!” she threw her arms outwards, aimed at me. “You need to shut the fuck up and leave me alone during the day. Stop bothering me with that little twerp!” “Pack your things. Go, leave. I don’t want to see your face tonight.” “Fine, I will. I don’t care,” she resorted to a normal conversational tone and voice. “You aren’t seeing me ever again. I won’t even talk to you. You can go masturbate for all I care.” “It’s better than living with someone who is rage.” “You are the rage!” she shouted. Jane entered her room, our room, and dressed in a fine-lined darker shade of blue sweater that dominated her breasts, and blue denim pants for the finishing act. She removed herself from the room, entered the hall, and left through the front door. Because of her reasoning for money problems, she purposely slammed the door. I heard the car engine start, fumbling forwards, and drastic into setting the sight; the blinding lights of the front of our vehicle poured through the closed blinds of the window in front of the household, where I stood, unavailable to watch the outside world. I sipped three spoons of coffee, and gradually investigated Dawn’s room. “Dawn?” I said. “Where are you, dear?” I heard Dawn make a sentence with her voice, and I attended the location she spoke. Beside her computer, which was decorated with stickers in the shape of flowers, and sunflowers, she sat, in her chair, and mumbled about the internet. “I’m here, daddy. Is mommy gone?” “Yeah,” I said, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes. “She’s gone, for now.” “I wish she would stay away. She never loved me.” “That’s not true, dearest.” “But it is,” she answered. “I can feel it and think it, and she tends to bring nothing but sad smiles each time she looks at me.” “That sounds super duper!” she had a wide smile on her face. Dawn closed the lid of her computer, sat back, and was released from the chair, entering into the hallway with me. “Let’s get pepperoni, oh, and black olives, and lots and lots of cheese---,” she said cheese-like, “Cheeeeeese.” dragging the word with consideration for her childishness. Though Dawn was happier than a fruit cake, I detoured to resonate with the thought of her losing her life. Dawn's front head crashed through the front windshield barged through the interior, and outwards flew across the street pavement about thirteen feet into a white formatting cement truck. I remember that at the funeral we couldn't even see the woman's face because of how badly shaped it was to become in reformative authorities—that aided in the death of Jane’s mother, Dawn's Grandmother. But instead of Jane’s mother in the crash, with all the victims enticed into death, I could not release the face of my daughter's happy smiling expression at life between the outline of the face that surveyed into the immediate destruction that followed. I entered the fridge with a cold appetite for a beer but noticed none there. “Well, shit.” “What’s wrong, daddy?” I heard Dawn. “She must have heard my recognized negativity. “Out of beer.” “I saw mom drinking them.” “Of course she did,” I reinstated my venue of attraction through liable words and entered the main room where Dawn sat on a couch, with a prepared menu for Pizza King abiding in the crash course...shit…there was a….”It’s alright,” I thought. “I’ll be alright. I don’t need to talk to myself with my daughter right here. She’d think I was weird, or something. I’m talking right now, quit it!” I sat beside my daughter with her smell coursed. Dawn chose to come closer, nearer to me. She laid her head against my left shoulder, with her at the end of the couch. “What is it, sweetie?” “I want to have a mom with us.” “She’ll be fine.” I removed my cell phone from my shirt pocket, labeled it on the left chest, went through the contacts, and found the number I was attending. “You want everything on yours?” “I’m getting my own?” she exclaimed, with a reassured glad appropriate motion. “Yeah! I want everything, even the bell peppers.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Please----” she begged. “I’ll clean my room.” “You already cleaned your room without permission, so I’ll let you get your bell peppers.” “Yeah!” she said, throwing her arms out from her torso within a bordered instant of appreciation in what seemed like the excitement I had once suffered my mother at her tender age of eight years, fulfilled and stated into contained love for appreciative thoughts. “You’re the best dad in the whole wide world.” For an instant, I believed she was about to leave the blue-colored sofa and dance about the main room, but she wrapped her slender arms around my waist instead. I felt a tinge of attraction but demised the sensation with an immediate revulsion. I did not allow her to see my reaction but fiddled in my mind a little We remained awake until eleven at night, communicating father to daughter, father-to-daughter, and I embraced a normal thought allowance as we talked and watched her childish movies, which I found intriguing none the less. She fell into a stumbled sleep sometime earlier, about ten minutes at the end of the movie. We had our dinner and the boxes were emptied. Jane still hadn’t returned, but I thought nothing of it. If Jane found this mess we created I would be a dead man the next morning. I cleaned the boxes, threw them into the trash, and binned several other items into the wet fridge. “I need to fix this damn thing.” I closed the fridge door, which causally brought a new sight among the serf. “Daddy?” Dawn had entered the kitchen, and had hidden behind the fridge door, at least in my mind made this action. I breathed with a steadfast inheritance of air. “What is it, dear?” “I’m tired. Can I read some and go to bed?” she asked. “I don’t know why not?” I said. “Momma’ isn’t home still?” “Not tonight. Your mother likely went out with Cousin Earnest, weird friends, eh?" I turned to her with attentive eyes. "Hey,” I gave my attention to her. “How about some chocolate milk before bed?” “Sure…” she dozed off with a simple measuring stick adjusted about her membrane. “I...can... drink... chocolate... milk?” she said, stating each word as consecutive drawing breathes. “Yeah.” I poured milk into two glass containers and added the Hershey branded title into the white milk. We both watched as the chocolate syrup channeled about the memorable milk. “Stir and will be served,” I said. I dropped a spoon into her cup of milk, swirled with chocolate, and she stirred. I became pleased and pleasured with her obedience. “You can take it to your room tonight. Don’t tell mother.’ “Goodnight, daddy.” “Goodnight, sweetheart.” I watched as she ascended the stairs to her room. I watched, indeed, her small frame counter the steps, her bare feet submitted onto God, forevermore embrace without the consultation of her mother, I felt relieved. I had made time to treat Dawn with love, she aided and seemed to have enjoyed the time we had together. “I wonder if I can do this more often---damn it, wish I had something to drink,” I remember the milk. I turned around and clasped my dominant hand over the side of the glass, seeing a regretful reflection, I stumbled about, and made way for the front door. I smoked three cigarettes, white in linear strength, and waited for Jane’s imminent return. This wasn’t the first time she’s decided to leave and not deal with the mannered adult institution settled in our embankments. In a mere conversation, I contacted God for strength to be provided and that Jane become relevant in safety cautioned punctuality. In other words, into protective custody within the reach and refuge of our God. "My God," I thought. I chaffed the last cigarette for the night. The ashes split across the cement where I sat. I smiled, a small fragile smile that resonated in my mind, almost like a reflection without a mirror. I sat straight, flexed my elbows until the middle section popped the air bubble within the flesh, and traveled into the household. I looked back one more time at the cornfield, now distressed in the darkness of the night. Moonshine belonged to create symbolic, eccentric trust, and I did trust the moon and its lesser light, but I trusted the sunshine more glorious and advantageous in the pertaining moonlight disarayed with moonbeams to add to the cause of our daunting relationship. |
| I can’t write too fast considering my mother and sister are asleep. I would not be appreciated to have awakened them with the sound of plastic keyboard buttons tabbing in the letters. No, that wouldn’t be good whatsoever, now would it? “What do you want to listen to?” Trisha asked, her voice quivering in her mouth. “I want to listen to coffee,” I answered. . With confidence, she appeared before me with mild intentions. “You can’t listen to coffee, dear.” “That’s true,” I agreed, leaving the couch to prepare more coffee for the daily awakening and motivation to satisfy the growing needs and incoming pains that treat me with valuable sickness in mental escape. Ares, while I channeled possession, continued his creative influence on the contained allusive keyboard connected accordingly with the computer. I looked at the cat with full attention while the words sprayed against the screen in fast collateral motion. “I love your writing, kitty. I love you desperately and founded in love I admire you. Whose a good Ares?” I tip his forehead with a quick sensational fingering, which he accepts magnificently. “Wondrous creature of the night, whose aim is to feed on the blood of men, confess thy nightly visitation without recuperation or sexual reproductive sensation. You scowled little child, whose bringing fangs deepened with appetite into the necks of older men, confessing sexual gratification without the hint of hundreds of thousands of youths devoured for ultimate beauty, but none made you taller to trick, I see thee trickster, toppled without considerable devotion, sin does in a tackle with ye, forevermore. Children vampires with seductive looks are confusing and I reiterate the notion that mankind would want her, deserve her, and heal her, though she is two thousand years old; insanely investing into congress a new bill: “Vampires shall be noticed not int eh night, but locked away from culture, thus predating ourselves a notion of grand sophistication that shall dally and make yip the grand cathedral.” “Promise?” the little vamp girl said, “You promise I’ll never hurt another human being ever, ever again?” I decided nodding was the appropriate answer, and fixated a normal, almost casual appreciation for the young girl. She stood at three feet, not a midget, mind you, but morose code does demand that she is in the staleness of a second year in birth foretold without motioning comics to apprehend. Silkscreen tuning with white-colored vision, underneath the full route motioned, there came a decisive battle between silent people and shouting individuals, all comparing themselves to one another at who is debt in the culture and societies membrane that subdues natural selection. But, this little vamp said, honoring her father, “You humans haven’t changed at all. You dumbass poop cooper stat don’t shuffle shit!” I heard several Japanese men say, “What” in their native language prescribed to their tongues. “Don’t hurry to get your ass somewhere, e come on, bring down the stars again. Build towers to the unassertive again, not these stupid ideas that keep getting made today. I hate the culture of today. I’m leaving.” The little vamp girl pp offed out of the existence of the air and shifted it not he coursed wind, and drifted further towards the sea, outside the city of Houston, but as she was flying the skies, soaring the heavens she didn’t realize a pole, and split her head in half, cracked her skull again the metal pole. She never would had thought that humans would consume strengthened electricity without a meaning, but there was not meaning for such elevated poles sticking out of the ground. Whoever she was talking to demanded to rem burst excitement. “You build retarded poles, but you can’t build mountains anymore? Seriously?” she floated downwards, to the bottom of the pit, balanced in refracted satisfaction, and rubbed her wounded head. Mother is the champion of doing clothes, cleaning, and washing directly in the newly bought machines that change the whole system of washing clothes, or whatever is wagered into the thing. “What abundant love does excite me, netting the water, spinning, rinsing (whatever rinsing means), and fathomed thoughts controlled without killing a color from the belated challenge. “Why do you guys think I’m here?” she asked, her arms stretched out, but she was too short to make a shout. “Hey!” she said. “Hey!” she answered again, attempting shouts but only getting blocked out with the voices of the human mean women, demanding retribution for the killing of the woman’s side of children. “Hey, you ass crackers!” And the worse of them all appeared. The vampire, Bell, entered into the fray, m and said with a mighty thunderous caging voice, that chuffed the chaff of the air, “Belong to this little one, little bitches.” The humans looked, and there was Bell, above the ground in darkness prevail. Though he stood above the ground, the humans around him did not care and said, “Who are you calling a bastard?” “I said bitches.” “You fucking cock mumbler,” older gentlemen outed out his emotion. “You dick sack,” another said. The little vamp Blondie said, “Humans, am I right, Bell?” “Indeed, the world has become retarded.” Bell replied. Then an even more severely depressing voice said: “Masturbation leads to dis-confidence. You don’t masturbate---you write like a god, unlike that which does masturbate. You have emotion, secret thoughts pouring out on the pavement, thinking like bloodlines, and allowed myself formatting Japanese yourself confusion without fortification or lustful thinking, progressing forwards---,” “Okay, we understand!” I shouted in reluctance. “I’ll attempt to defeat the lust I have for animated and, sometimes, I do add, realistic people who are as stupid as the fucking can that dips their shit, in which these certain women miss each time they sit.” “Fuck them!” the voice said. I answered. “Leonard Cohen?” “Uh…” the deep voice reprises. “No.” “Yes.” “Nu-uh.” “Indeed, you are the dead and living Leonard Cohen.” “Bell…?” The little vamp said. “Hey, don’t need to be a lover…” Cohen said. “Fuck…” “What?” I asked. “The fucking thing over there is talking.” “What is?” I turned to look where she pointed. “You mean the table?” “Yes.” “Fuck.” “Indeed, fuck…” “No, need, “said Cohen, “the sweetness becomes restored.” We all began to dance to the singing voice of Leonard Cohen, and we made a little excuse as he lamed his thoughts into the air, belonging to our conversation, the humans walked away, and what was left was me, little blonde-haired vamp, and Leonard Cohen dancing slowly about hand in hand. “That’s how the world works, ain’t it?” I said, Bell. “I’m a mad scientist, sonata’ bitch!” why? I think the same, Ares. What the fuck what did I wake up to?” See what happens when you get yourself outside, and walk and feel the cold, oh—yes. The fucking goodness of God is fucking good. Fucking live on, bitches.” Jesus raised towards the heavens. I can still see his paused smile, stretched out to show visible white teeth. I don’t remember Jesus’ teeth being white; be perfect in the body of God, a kind of thing which I suppose resurrection causes perfection over the flesh. Who knows? “Wait. Teeth and bones are flesh too?” “Who the fuchsia re ye?” said the priest, bowing though his mind elevated. “You fuckin’ the pee-pee?” “The fuck?” I questioned. “Your pee-pee will stay inside the wee-wee,” I answered shim. “Fuckin’ pee-wee Herman.” “So this is how I write when I base it on stupid shit with an original voice. I fuckin’ don’t think I’m that smart, but damn, that’s fucking stupid. But I love it, share it, and while piss it like drinking water.” This is what happens when I think about coursed imagination, bringing closed sticks to the brim without the next incoming thought OT suffice my existence. (24414) “This is how Ares writes he presses his foot or paws against the keyboard and makes magic happen.” Go on, bro. Who gives a fucking shit about the poop in your bloop.” Emotions without connection cause people to pull teeth with rusted pillars. Let’s see them holes in our gums, eh brother?” “Cody?” “What, Trisha?” “My cunt is wet?” “The hell?” Could you lick it and make it dry?” “Uh...what?’ “Please-----?” “No.” “What, why?” she asked, her brows of blonde hair furrowed. “You don’t want me?” “Of course I do, but why would I want to lick a pussy that is wet?” She stares into me, and I stare into her. “You just fuckin’ lick it.” “Well, isn’t that sexual and considered masturbation?” “You are such a fucking dweeb,” she leaned a carpeted tunnel outwards from her cloak. “You better smoke this.” “Out!” “What?” “Get out with that shit.” “You can be such a dumb butt head!” she shouted at me with ferocious intoxication. I believe I heard her cry; I listened; a nose blew into a tissue, I hoped. She desperately was thinking about fucking, but I separated from the house of this godliness that suffers miserably and impeccably. You can’t make this shut up. My brain filled with cavities, I said with a motivation unlike before. “Fuck off.” Whatever is on this little sheet of fucking paper, some demons brutalize the system of functional English. “Come on up and win a hand, fuck the band, give em a hardstand. |
| God, I am depressed beyond my years. I can’t figure out how humans do it well to maintain a healthy routine without vertebrates murdering, killing, and defacing human subjects. I don’t understand the reasons behind it, nor the comforts available bounded with resources. “You humans are so conscious to love that it drives me insane. I want to be able to love humanity, too. I don’t know about writing anymore. I’ve been doing it for twenty-some years and have written more than one million words by the time I was sixteen, but I can’t seem to think the force of attraction instilled within me. “I am determined, but I lack motivation—the constant, same thought throughout routine!” I become like glass, burned from the sunshine, bleeding hearts into the dialect that prescribes my antidotes. The medication helps, in some ways, and Jesus Christ also aids me in times of my personal, disproportionate life. But, I wonder, “When will I be able to surmise greatness into the world through the Creator? “What does YHWH want with me? He wants me to get off my arse and get a mission in life—or as humans seem to manufacture the idea, a job! “Come then, humanity, and bring flowers to grace the fellowship that perturbs your elegant high authorities. I am ashamed and desperate to die. “What wonders to think that I am concerned about humans, with humankind. “I might be a good writer, I might be a terrible editor, but I can confess my troubles to myself, not towards humanity." Should someone read these lines with a higher intellect forged in their pink brain, make me known, allow me the discretion to allow suffice-no evidence to properly announce the canonical belief astounding me, raising me, and downwards trotting over hills and possible mountain peaks. I desire the motions of destruction onto human bodies. The mind is casual in its conversations, and I am called and considered odd and absent, but I am the one who speaks and tells the stories based on traveling companions' thinking. “I am here,” I am shouting to the world. “You can’t fucking take me, I have the Lord on my side, and if that is unreasonable, then I am on His side. You can’t fucking take my eyes out with a metal spoon anymore. You hear me you fucking humans, the dredge is building, and I can’t suffice." "I’m becoming depressed and the light is shining so bright. It doesn’t make sense, the casualness, the peace, the treaties. What reason does man invade his soul to find portions lost in imbalanced integrity?” What has occurred to me is baseless and factual, all the same, I distill presence, forming love is diabolical, and thus I am in suffering. “Listen, and be not afraid. The informal conversation does intend me to a desire to kill, murder, and mash the fortunes of human rivals that are constant and persistent to the notions I have created abroad this national earth. “Come to me, brothers and sisters. "There is much to astonish and amaze without the defense of man to become a smoking haze. I have heard numerous humans tell me in school, "what are you on, man? Whatever it is, I want some." and thus read mine. I did appear to be on heavy drugs in school, even at the barely necessary age of twelve, and onto seven when this whole Genesis aided in truth. I consume medication, each and all the mornings and evenings that pertain to exist until Christ returns. I’ll be forever situated to believe that God will make known his Presence when His Son does return. “What can be achieved if I have murdered all the humans? But to see some of them rise from the dead and be accepted? Would that drive me insane, cause me to lose the wheel? I desire a woman. I want a woman, a female. Someone of honorable traits; somebody who makes me feel worth in the world; someone who can aid me to resist the truth, sometimes I wonder if such a thing is feasible. For a human to escape the truth, one must abolish truth, and mankind has an edited record on such matters. “What can be done, indeed? When humans divert from the Lord and, instead, unvarnished evidence shows that sin does cause massacres in the human brain, in their lives, and all that which their hands and mind do inactive fortification. “What can be done, indeed,” I tell, once more. “What can be done?” The humans need to be exterminated with the blade. The sword must be raised. Cancer must hunger, the earth is decomposing. We are the authorities of this world and we demise it for the sake of entertainment. “What can be done?” I don’t desire to reside here. I want out of this establishment. “Could I die, Father in Heaven? To be resurrected after a standard dream that was maintained for generation after generation, as if I were napping and dreaming? What matter does contain into eternal happiness when I am slouched in a void in the soils of the earth? Compassion settles and I make head to the direct Motivator, who is the Christ then, but the Son of God, the Son of Man riding on the clouds? Has Christ transformed me within the introspective and exterior containment domain? I still want to slaughter. I still maintain furious intentions and frustrations at the mandates the mind constructs. The voices do not intercommunicate with me, because the medication is doing its task, its call has survived. I’m afraid to continue with the consumption of the medication because it might cause derailed motivations or deceitful beliefs to amuse me. I can’t have a wife unless she similarly is lost in the mold that the created earth has exhausted onto our spirits. She’ll have to be mental too, but not in a shameful fashion. How, then? What reason do men have satisfaction in their stares when observing her accomplish what she does? In all cases, Trisha became emotionless, paused, and direct to her death. Yes, indeed. I murdered her some weeks aforesaid to this day. “I can’t utter about it, as she is contained in scorched ash, dirtied and classed as a standard human, one who dies too close to the boundary of the world. “Compassion sets the stronghold to abide in the natural order I have little to obtain in this chateau. The towers overlook the blackened mist; the condensation that arrived earlier this morning has floated into the ocean, spread in a casual content of containment. “I don’t prefer the world. I desire God. And still, I butchered the one woman who could be an aid to the needs I must earn. What, indeed? What, indeed?” The murderous rage has invested in contacting me through an accompanied partnership of demons, latched onto me like car crashes, fatal and distorted. The promise to contain life is detrimental frolic with a casual glance. I must decide now what the remembrance shall become; otherwise, I shall die in the sit of accompanying destruction. Who can cease the activities that process into me without casual care? I smile though I know I contain default thoughts towards lethal rage. Indeed, I ask humanity with serious tone and appreciation for their cowards and fearful desires: “What can be done for these few who concern themselves onto God, and not onto destruction, following with blind faith, sometimes, and other times between the lines of reality and the spiritual upbringing of righteousness? Is being righteous a sin these days in the minds of humankind?” Brushing aside his hand away from his face, he naturally fixated his thoughts onto Trisha, whose face belonged to the gravel she now consumed in a parasitic venue kind of way. “Naturally, you find death and sleep in it. Make that bed because it’s eternal until the resurrection dictates an opening occupied reluctance into our fleshed bodies, now succumbed into dreams.” Examine the truth, demand its roots take hold. “There be demons here, underneath the soiled and wet rock, boulders and stones. Their hearts beat like ours, but not flesh consumed. Instead, the spirit decides its fate with a mastered class vision dedicated smaller than the average bear. Slumber, little one; the night reopens contagious visions; therefore, the route towards Paradise is narrow, contained, and shallow strengthen without the motivations concerned and available towards humankind's decree famished within the natural order. Ares closed his attention and slowly buried the front of his head into his small frame towards the stomach. He curled and returned, silence motioned. Love does have a deeper connection with animals. These creatures of creation, seated in their natural order, oppose suffering but are mortal and coiled in the sins we have mustered into existence without second-hand opportunities to resist. If wolves in forest shrubs obtain the acts of silence, would the forests be struck with ominous chuckles and sarcastic laughter that dominates the human mind in thinking: “these beasts can hear me. But, how and what reason?” These questions shall be resolved and answered in due time; casual and incentive cornered copied chance will divide the natural order and offer these animals their voice; once more. Adam was untrained and corrupted from the formed words of his wife, Eve. And the two humans, after eating the face-shaped fruit from the tree of Good and Evil, continued astounding the posture made clear, directly inventing new formations in the ancient world. What dimension resulted in factual comparison to the extents settled here within and on the borders of lined earth? Demand offered confessions settled baseless contradicted intentions. Who can muster the ideas formulated within humankind's infinite mind stationed with brilliance and deliberate sunshine; also, the moonshine shall not concern our truth and stern strength into diversions. Should we enter into the universe, the stars will result from decimation and, concerned hatred demands ritual into the formations and delicate war cries of human battle. Death contains a discovered world in the universe, where even the air extinguished and dead; contained measured faith brought back from the slumbering head of human atrocities. I become interference between life and death, measured well-mannered faith in the countenance destined as fate, which our Creator has endured for me far too excessively, portioned direct motivations exampled, and created authentically embrace. Indeed I shall condemn the world and become a brainless measured contact without invaluable treats decided onto me like some loathed woman dearest with sexual apprehension. The moon will continue to roll; the sunshine shall forever remain whole; the dearest nights will be cold, and the morning and daily living lights become like unfolded heat. Do I love humankind with love intense and several times over the boundaries dedicated to those who command armies and nations to settle, between and inside the bordered control elevated in the division? Demand love, as stated, or crucified bodies will result from haunting invitations for the local member of the current church that Christ found on the stone tablet hear said in dire straits. The silence astounds Jackson as he measures the room, an inch at an inch, his cornered vision deliberate and confiscated towards one direct detail the maid had offered the room before Jackson entered. Jackson fired his membranes and became excited about the new color—the curtains were blue, unlike the remaining rooms addressed wild green, almost deepened in nature, like herbs dedicated within an isolated compound forest. Why were the previous colors annihilated with shaded ocean curtains switched, turned over, and replaced with blue-colored shades? “Continue to write, friend. There be abundant amount of clear effort not wasted.” I awoke in the earliest of the evening in the belief that I aroused at the swift promise of tomorrow, detailed morning. Indeed, I walked into the kitchen, started the standard procedures in-fixed with routine, and created a custom amount of vanilla coffee. Now, onto awakened state, I did not recall the previous night, for what worth does intercede, I continued believing the lie, the delusion that I became accustomed for the morning. “What nonsense finding out I was concerned, lost, and tracked into the sentiment that it was morning when confirmed time forced brief indication of earliest night. “Which dreams protruded into belief causing severe trauma convinced with memories? There is a blackened hole within the measure contained and briefed since the start of my slumber, but I am concerned believing the natural element slumber has convinced me to become. Flawless dedication towards bedtime has invested obscure and twisted collateral damage to the memories of our eventful time here on earth. There is little I can intercede onto positive influence dedicated to love and depressed onto the calm negative change. I believe the time has crossed for me to ring the daily motivations for consuming medication that the mind remains consonant to life. I am, still, invested and considered natural before the consideration is timidly inventive towards youth and its splendors. Manners are definitive, never crossed over into destructive belief as I believe in the eternal life that Christ Jesus promised with not insult, but with persuasiveness determined as love. The same options deepened into the repressed conclusion in all men. And still, she smiles with coordination accurate and blameless—pictured in an endless image of stillness, closed off from the remains of this world, but detested in the arms of heaven. She is beautiful, but her ideals challenge the conceived automotive embrace as preposterous and unavailable to the nations belonging to her concepts, drilled and unobtainable. The woman I consume trust and factual evidence in her opposing personality has become viewed as usual, nor induced within measures of contained hatred. Trisha is dead before all males. In fact, before me, she resides within defined influence tripped into national convergence. I am in terrible straits for her love, but she has become unable to talk, communicate, form words, and make movements with her sharp tongue, more still and distilled with memories obtained in her defined speech. Mother came within the household, unable in confidence, and reasssured docuemneted defeat she advises bald faced blame onto me, like fire in a wild forest. Her confidence is shot, her memories are deluded, and her emotions counteract her former character, but she is human. “What can be done and finished in this woman? She blames me for her emotional distraught, and now, as I write, she has lost the remembrance of her possession of a certain expensive ring that is formed around her forefingers at the most dominant situations. How could she lose the sensation of stimulation deafened with the pressure of a steel item wrapped around her flesh? I became infuriated with her deformations, which resulted me in calling her “stupid” and “dumbfounded.” That wasn’t the correct formation of words demanded in trust and interceded emotion. I become mad when I notice my mother’s exalted destruction onto her life. Demand that I attempt better reactions when I surrender to God the emotions I can not handle nor control without distortions in furious intentions. She is like a wound appearing in directions unknown, there on the fleshed skin, but unable to produce blood, though exalted in sensation, exciting towards knowing and understanding. The posing light demises the forest shrubs, the green shaded with the shadows motioned into a desperate plea to contain within the fields, crossed into the line border that twists forwards into a narrow route into the broadest void contained in dire reasoning. The horses become startled, heaved pressured breathing without direct consequence in mattered health, instead of dedication formerly invested, the mares travel forwards without the allegiance under stressed converse and communication between the animal and our demise certified without measure. To become a man, one must understand and surrender the cross without devotion interceded with the world. But humankind descends into chaos when change is immediate; the vessel can not endure the confusion formed from the molded recessed tomb integrated—beseeched derangement concerned! I enter the blank darkness of the room, the bedroom that devises me utter devastation in dreams, within a realm or portioned dimension that resonates vibrations in silence. Compromise initiates the possible escape, the reassurance of reawakening the dawn, awaiting me dimmed in the darkness, compared to the sunshine, I find the moonlight determined to upset me, cause confusion, and frustrate the ideals and members of the household with each footstep across the broad and worrisome floorboards. Creeks and shutters demand attention here onto the floor, but the animals rouse at the noise, the screech of the banished woman does invite me to confuse her mind. Trisha denies confirmation in the book of life, represented underneath an ink that dates from ancient civil unrest; she belongs in regret, though she returns to me vindicated from Christ Jesus? The woman dreams her small detailed dream, wondering onto an awakened state, “Who has entered into me this night?” and the man beside her, the one who condemns others and blames the world for the disease-infested periodically throughout his entire life, demands that she be conformed in his broad arms, muscular and strengthed with pressure plates against his flesh in the earliest of morning light, the dawn. Enter onto dreams and be relieved that humankind devises itself without the utterance of moans and groans without God’s permission, thus alloweth the truth to settle onto virtue and death becomes relevant. The main idea is researchable while definitions compose words formed into sentences; resources become available to decree in one’s defined words, once more constituted into discretion. Trisha continues to voice her concerns, “Editing is tighter to God than required for those who accomplish not should write with the Holy Spirit. Kindness decrees truth without question. Truth principles to cooperation while still maintaining demand; truth demands unification. We need love and abiding trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, our Prominent Lover of the Truth.” The Northern storms, the cold embrace, have invested a clear climate out here in the boonies. The outside village of Surfside shall hear the wind in their dreams, continual and described as casual cold fronts. The Northern States, up and up inside the United States borders, has endured the cold with persistence. Now the storm has come downwards into the Southern States. Wind avails the coherent air, delicate and viable to rain and confused frustrated heat demanding heat flashes and high mounted lightning to flash, like a blade in the heavens, while the love of God remains constant in Presence and Trust. I understand the world is constant onto defiled heritage, that we, the masters and holders of the earth, are filled with hatred to demise and create fire. But, I ask the Lord to allow Passage onto correction without discretion in abhorrence detailed explanations expressed without human defilement. I hear the cold wind brush the hairs end of the household, inched with wood and supportable under and over the current weight load of the home pertained onto this isolated construction in the boonies. We reside nearest a beach, the Gulf of Mexico is outside, there on the bottom level of the street which turns to sand after several concrete boulders to cease hurricane sounded destructive influences over the village. |
| The dragging pastures contained in the imminent motivations known as time convinced me to understand basic principles conducted without the measure of painstaking tracing venues. I wondered about the natural light, the confinement I had endured, and wondered, outwards with the tongue, “Who can save me now that I have survived through the Lord? The woman I admire and am filled with admiration for her honor has been defiled, murdered by the hands of creators of massive torture. I do not respite them, but I want their desires burned out for them to become ignorant and never accept the Lord, that she might be avenged. These men, those who tortured my wife, my beloved, dearest in love, confessed her love for Jesus Christ, thus she died, passing into the air, and I pastured forwards to define the truth of hatred. The thought that she was misused, tortured, and driven into corners to be molested and raped, does induce destruction upon the vibrant sounds ancient and disturbed—might Sheol swallow them! “Venetians, dissuade their lives for the sake of the woman I love, and, or had, loved onto dearest desire. Can this be made into the realities set forth from the start of our Genesis? The beginning of our creation under the oath of a Kind and Loving God, our Father onto Heaven's direct motivation? She is done, fall into slumber. We shall await the time our hearts might contain the tears and threaded ticks that dedicate the pronouncement to announce the challenge and the submerse atrocities that mandate hatred. “I want them dead, all of their hearts to cease contact with the human vessel.” I breathed inwards deeply satisfied with my chance at persuasion attributes, convinced that Venetians would answer. But, the silence carried on with the musical balanced noise, listening—there be demons here, unable to understand the portions of this God offered mind I handle each time I awake and slumber! “Contain me as hate defies the love of our one main Creator, settled in three combined intrinsic visions.” “Embarrassment fills the emptied void that confesses its natural words to me, like bird chirps with excitement when it sees the small descendants produced in the laid and worn birds nest. I wonder, “What can be done to the exact measure that I can read someone alive? It’s difficult to read literature when the author is still alive and well...therefore, I wonder if I can handle Michael Moorcock. We shall see through the shining light of day, wonderment, wonderment, and more so vindicated into amazement.” “You must be cautious to what is needed to be read. You become the main character a bit too excessively, almost containing the main voice as that of your own. What is written is written; let ears hear, hands turn, and minds contemplate the ideals and motives behind the work I have endured to create. For entertainment or measured faith?” I breathe inwards, taking a soul to refresh the matter within the human blood clouds. I write for the reader, not the abased functions of oneself, but towards destinations left untrained, terrible noises arise from the horizon, deepened in lakes of crystal shades, converted to darkness in a massive blackness that overthrows the tree’s, waters, and the surface of soil over the embankments. The surface belonged to the blankness, and as the turmoil settled in like a vase underneath a table, the confusion did repose a challenge to survive the nightmare to come in this detailed inclusion to survive and make known this message across the demanding earth that all men might have a chance to resolve their conflicts and renounce themselves in repentance; to change in direct motivation and inspiration—release the inner conflicts, the eternal spiritual struggle to obedience to an Almighty Loving God! The darkened coffee sits in replacement cups, sortieing the main visitors to the mental activities activated within me, concerned and available, I drink more compassion into the system; caffeine dissolves, and becomes another chemical to ethic truth. “That’s a damn fine cup of coffee!” I said and continued to write with music entertained. “Let us prepare more for the incoming sentences to persuade human mental illness to void, become erased, and, perhaps, just perhaps—the illness won’t bother me! The woman I admire is dead, but her voice entertains me with ease; her voice is similar to an easier yoke, light-burden, and I look into her frame, her facial expression, and see wide teeth, and expansive smiling fractions. “You smile too much, Trisha—I admire this exoticism that determines evident love.” “Does one love me or the idea of me?” she asked, which cohered me into the answer. I said in excitement to write: “I find the pleasure and detailed virtue that predominates me to exist within the voice of Trisha, which implies me to create love thus from the imagination, vivid and accurate are the thoughts about exist. Which concerns nothing but the memories of past longings.” “Memories slowly fade my distortions, the delusions setting a promise to invade and compromise all that I believe, think, and act onto deed through hands and motion of mouth. The world has ushered sackcloth over the darkened faces of mankind for generation after generation, and we are countless inbreeds functioning without a delicate nature to subside our love—and what a vital and promising love decreed! I awoke once more onto the earliest setting of the morning when darkness still avails to represent the night. Blackness overcame the fields, the ocean itself, and the motions which are heard in the deepest settings. The fortune to find love in this world is decided in the Hands of God, therefore, I shall not fear the blackness rendezvoused to become realistic, almost sickened and trances in desperate anatomy; the darkness has bodies mounted higher than the tallest peaks of mountains on Mars, and that is a terrible idea and concept bringing satisfaction onto human control. “What can be done to face the darkness?” I said. At once, the answer came in the name of the Father in Heaven, and God said: “Let there be light!” and there was light, and God saw goodness in the light. Thus the first attempt at creating the universe. I’m afraid of human disbelievers. Their hearts are cold, demanding trust in other humans, but there should be not one man to trust another human because men and women can not be trusted. What honor God is to trust in Him, and allow the Scriptures to be aided and reinforced into societal manners. “Without the Word of God, there will be chaos onto the next generation. Those who command their interests shall be burned in excitement as their heated heads watch the games occur onto Christians, who know and understand the basics of love and its kindness. “You humans need to repose the natural laws. Confine them. Call out to God, and ask for repentance. Without Christ nothing is possible; there be death for all who do not believe. I don’t mean simply passing away in a membrane memory. No, I mean the actual desolation and fog, the gasping darkness will abide to dissuade the human heart, and coldness and winter shall be known. “Oh, but I love the winter!” what an excuse to function. I can’t take reassurance for disbelievers, their hearts are stubborn. They believe that God does not exist, and intend to bring this idea into the world, thus the world spoke: “I do not believe.” And I answered: “Who demands authoritative love onto someone who doesn’t concern his concoction to abide in coincidence? What reason, indeed, does man continue to pour his heart into destructive behaviors? Remember, women are also the same, but not in a manner that should be honorable. A woman who knows and understands God does have fear of God, confesses each time, and derives into absolution for the Saints, of which we are as believers in the Christ and His eventual return, or second coming. I stand onto the applause and clap both hands together in a purposed loud motion. Human heads turned towards me. Some complained, while others remained silent and waited to hear from me. And I said: “Be ready, be prepared. He comes soon. Do not lose the motions of hope as love demands trust, trust demands unification, and remember that we have been vindicated through the blood split and saddened onto Christ Jesus, our Lord who died. He vindicated us with His resurrection. What can be done for humanity in this generation but to believe onto the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, when He returns from the clouds, as he had left them onto us two-thousand years ago.” I continued, ranch dressing was heard in the background splitting into a breakfast salad of herbs and cheese toppled on the top of the food embrace traits. Several children heard the noise, the squirting fart. I maintained, for demons were on the issue of humorous intentions, a chain with a ball and chained reticent chains. “The issue at hand concerns all men. Young and old, far and in-between, and sometimes shorter than the stick and sword balanced on the high wall. “You companions of detested luxurious intentions. I have much to abide in, and Christ will complain not—He comes, soon.” “Choose Christ, devour oneself to be created into the embrace and trust of love’s commands. God has created this nation with men and women who are bringing destruction onto teaching, bringing harbingers to hatred, and thoughtless children are indeed sufficed into a breaking point. The world is demanding justice, but it doesn’t understand the true situations, and infamously invigorating is the problem that troubles us. Instead of naming trouble, this importunity must be chanced with solutions, not with censors, or confused directors in cinema. “Instead, man should embrace the books represented in the canonical histories of mankind or that of the Israelite's. “Time is irrelevant. Time is a concept, none shall surpass the true confessions reminded each time we sin. We live in a temple, and God’s properties are made true to our temples. Our bodies are not ours, but the Lord’s. When we accepted and said, “Jesus be my savior and my friend,” we did not resonate with hatred, further on-wards. Now, I tell, he who hears hear, and he who listens, such are the words of Scripture: “Command the trust in our God, and we shall overcome the delusions the world has gases us—the sin and its consequences are abounded in terror at the mere sight of our troubled lives, as we understand that God brings satisfied trust and command for love onto our hearts.” “What kind of man disbelieves onto a love that is true?” These sorts of people are covered over with sackcloth and blackened sheets of its embrace. Darkness is their absolution, their home. They do not appease us, nor should we bother with their sins into our own lives. Forgive them, with the will of our trust. Command them,” I said. “To attempt love onto them, should someone murder their sister or brother. Is it available to love through God when one does not believe in such?” A Christian shall forgive the murderer, though that woman, that mother, that sister, were tortured for the name of Christ—chains for Christ Jesus! How much more can an atheist do so? When a man talks to God, on his knees, he remembers little else besides the conversation he pleaded. When his heart is torn, broken, and downwards, we communicate with God through the message of Christ Jesus; without Jesus, we can not speak to the Father, without the Father, we can not speak to Christ. God is One, connected into three. The Ghost of the Spirit of God does command love, but without trust, there is little else to abide by. While I interacted with the video game, I chewed pieces of several reminding sticks of gum. The short receive is: “This is the troublesome venue of suffering. I need distractions for the sake of distractions. Mankind shall know their limits and understand, but time continues, and those who do not understand are offered advice, which is dedicated to God, and not onto them, therefore their hearts are stubborn and resist. As Napoleon Bonaparte said, “One who disables faith and hope in God has more faith in their disbelief than that of a Christian follower who has faith like the abundance of mountains and can throw them into the sea with mere flowing words.” Of course, I paraphrased the sentence in our device. But the matter remains constant and reprises forevermore. I shall remain in print until the end of times. I have done the duties I intended to accomplish. All made through the Lord Jesus Christ all things are made possible; One who gives me strength. The greatest verse in the whole Bible, in all 66 books accounted for and done. “Oh, how I, we, love the name, Jesus. How it pronounces, says about a person, and tells of greatness abounded in faith. What joyous content I feel when I say the name, “Jesus!” Jesus! Jesus!” Who can cease his mental mission in life without the measure of love?” “Jesus is the authoritative attribute and individual who casts trust and love onto us! Yes, indeed.” “How bothersome,” their tongues speak their heretical justice. “How wonderful,” I tell with mind and strength induced into me like a cause that is believable and true. “Command this man to know Him, He who commands does indeed trust in love. He who follows also follows in love. But, he who divisible, he who commands nothing, who states his pressured life, does not know the Lord Jesus Christ.” Who overtakes brilliance over a shred of factual evidence forlorn and cast into the fire, where it does not burn up? Might the Word of God live on, forevermore? “Thank you, and have a fantastic time with God in this life. For eternal life remains open to us, should we ask the truth, of which is Jesus Christ. You’ll need it.” --- Silent Hill is a received horror letter to fans of the sub-verse horror and terror genre. Without the mention of newer editions, we are insulted and void of contentment with the series. But, the latest releases, some hundred times ago, are scored in different mentions of the series. Homecoming was the first Silent Hill I was introduced to, too. I didn’t hate the game, but I did hate the game more so. Silent Hill remains a constant reminder that now since the regional team “Team Silent” has decided to close its doors, the Americans have changed their greed and their stupid thoughts into the series. Now, the series is forsaken from the division made onto the fans. What else could interpret the mention of love in this series, but when the Japanese were definitive to ask the question: “Is the environment the worse of all things?” I interacted with the remaining Silent Hill series with some evidence of hilarious obscure situations. But, as I entered onto the darkness of the game, I was invited into an endless dream, restless in its passion and consideration for the individual in front of the television set. And, of course, I’ve never cared for the original as the gameplay and graphics are quite dated—not to write that such things make a good game, but it’s dated, like an older model that isn’t created further into advancement. But, if I could overlook the dated functions, I would find the first Silent Hill to be memorized as a well-thought and proceeded venue of entertainment. --- ” Dusk and Dawn do not settle here; evening and morning are situated to hesitate. The counted number of civil unrest has made a chance at thoughtful proceedings. What can be done? God, what have I done to deserve the praise and recognition I lousy devoured and submitted into the internet database? Don’t take me out. Maintain me, offer me more wisdom and knowledge that I might be able to earn the paycheck and live normally, like all other workingmen? I work, but without Vinson to eat. I breathe hard, without the money to contain well-measured health. The invisible tumors in this world seek me, but run from me when they hear Your glorious name, even demons trample over their footsteps, whispering, “It is the Lord that remains with him, run—forswear!” “Save me from ultimate death, and take me into the customs of heaven, that culture could persuade to achievements made onto the choices and representation of freedom in the Highest Power available. If there isn’t a power for us, then what use it the remembrance of memories? I do not seek to become sickened in health, mind, and soul, and also onto the spirit. I demand that I live and reside on earth so that the voice of God can be heard by all mankind. The human who seeks is received, and the book of life holds that name within its counting pages, growing rapidly every day, daily. Sharp pains endured in the stomach like a pinpointed needle inserting into the right side of the stomach, but I maintain to trust in God, the Creator. Without Him, I can do nothing; with God, all things are possible. The removal of a terrible disease, is in fact, considered. Ares and I heard the noise from the side, our animal friend, Snow, was in dreamless relaxation, but to be perturbed and disruptive in her sleep. I looked at Ares, and Ares examined me, too. I turned my head towards the dog and Ares copied the same motion. “What could Snow be dreaming at the moment?” whimpering in her sleep, and having eye shadow overgrows her eyelids causes me to believe she’s been on the verge of tears. “What reason, at all, does Snow bark in her dreams, but unable to do so when awake?” Ares closes his short hairy eyelids. I continue to write onto the sheets of computer paper made available to me. I sweat without remorse and the stabbing pains in the stomach have returned earlier as I started to write about Snow’s restless dreams. “Genshin Impact is appropriate, in the next second. Once this sentence is finished, I’ll reprobate towards the game, and likely will be called to “get off” as mother states it when I do pleasure myself with the interactions of such visual entertainment. A definitive culture…wait, a second. Wasn’t I supposed to return to the game? Well, I do write a bit more current events, don’t I? “Words have meanings, one should ask before it’s too late.” It’s on the loading screen, four characters are chanced to exist on the screen. Blackness develops, then issues a white screen with the title and casual information for the current Chinese citizens. More defiant loading ensures, and now here we are at the gate of madness, with closure for entertainment. This is fun and considerably better than achieving drugs and using them with abusive enhancements. I’ve decided since the birth of this nation to drink alcohol to the main core it represents, without casually entering a drunken state of posterity. The belonging and natural love I have for drinking are blameless, as I am adequate to the point of heresy. “Who can cease my involvement when I steal from other people’s cups?” I ask the deed of stealing the whiskey was appropriately discharged, dishonorably, horribly, and most frighteningly investing in the potions that poster forwards into endless captivity that never stops relining, stealing, and gutting me. “What can be done?” I hear the sound of meat being cooked in the kitchen, inside an oven, old and modern, almost modest in its color. “What can I do?” I smell the processed meat, turned over, shifting in color, and defrosting, melting the main odors and freezing temperatures into a heated gouge of delicate food. “Mock me more, and I’ll rise against the fellowship that brought me here.” “You can’t do that.” “Watch me.” I was remembering something that occurred the last seven years, something horrific and filled with chaotic mind control. The humans can not hear my thoughts, and they never will be able to understand my dialect and understanding, because it is a holiness that prepares the nation for a war that we are going to lose. We shall have the most hits, murders, and assassinations, sure, but the enemies of the desert had interrupted our dispute, and we commanded ourselves out of that nation, or nations, without much proper explanation to the ones who have died. Those desert sands are filled with American blood and that of the heretics. It’s dampened the color of the brown soil, damped it too far to an exceeding amount of color red performed to create a deepened shade of blood that musters in the passing of dunes. Smoke violists the skies, the heavens scream, and none think about the daily living cost of the average soldier about to atone for his sins. How countless we are, desperate to send our young ones to die, to fill the heart with blood, and release it through a needle. Turning off a light, simple clicks, tampered evidence, and dead lost souls to never accustom to the sands of the ancient world. All in all, the manners of man are sufficient to die, to find hope, and to die with its embrace. “The light will shine, and the prosperity of love shall confine.” : She talks, once more, this time with a deeper feeling. “You can’t do that!” “God, watch me!” I replied, curious to her endeavors to wonderment. How did she understand the basic principles that facilitate the natural order? Is it because she is more than a woman to me? More than a human individual, but a daughter, and woman whose aim is higher than even mine? “How can one stand there and do nothing. We must take a plane, leave this country, and find a reason to live and reside without death to the poster its brand on us.” “Is not Christ reason enough?” she said. She answered my question, with a delicate voice and tone, soft and vibrant with earrings to pasture the control of her attention. I wanted to fuck her. “Christ will help us.” “I know, this dearest. But I must help. I must do something. They’re dying out there, and I can’t…” I can feel the mastered tears coming. Incoming wetness fills my eyes, the lines divided, and the throat has choked as if someone had forced a pipe down it. “You can’t keep doing this and not think about the children who can’t eat.” “We’ll start sending money for them. Okay?” It’s going to be starlight?” she embraces me with her arms, her close bosom onto mine, she is the most beautiful creature I believe I have ever known. What woman would tell a man such important truth? The clock on the wall divides the darkness abounding in the living room. She is still holding me, and I am spilling my guts. “You are the treasure,” she said. “Cody, you are the treasure in God’s eyes. You can help because I’ll see how much money we can send. Okay?” I reinforce words, shutter, and embrace her. “You wanna fuck?” “I wouldn’t mind some casual sex right now,” she answered. “Yes.” her final tone of moaning did excite me with dedication and upraised truth, belonging to someone as beautiful as Trisha is more than a dream, but somewhere in between the lines of slumber and awakened lucid trouble. But marriage does have its qualities. “See here, what occurs when drinking takes its forced roots into one person. Takes the mental illness out of the brain, and signals forth a dread that doesn’t come.” “You’ve been drinking?” she asked. I wanted to tell her the truth, I attempted the art of truth. “Yes, I have been drinking. You can’t smell the alcohol?” She sniffed me, her nose collapsed, and then raised, and found normalcy again. “You have been drinking, you dirty trollop.” “What?” “Nothing,” she smiled, and lead me to the bedroom where we masturbated for several minutes, together, hand in hand, and visioned forwards into sexual intercourse with my penis erected into a defiant detail. She was wet, and I was hard. That’s how life is more interesting in the venue of sexual love between a woman and a man, husband, and wife. Not the details of prostitutes, or dedicated stars who command themselves to repulsion, awhile not giving, but personal pleasure. How sin can be so messy. So casual and mischievous. But we commit it not, but we kiss with domination settled onto the both of us. She receives and I receive, we are not in sin, but in married containment. The whiskey is starting to burn my throat. I’m becoming tired after each stroke, almost like I’m sickened with demand. “Hold on, one second. I think I need to use the bathroom.” She lets out a sigh of relief, as I was pounding her quite dramatically, inventing new styles and sexual moves that demand attention to nothingness. “Okay. Take your time.” “Take my time,” I said, in her tone. “Right,” I finished in mine. “Delicate little Satirist needs some time alone,” Trisha said. Which caught me off guard. Made me feel the piss coming out of my penis the more satisfying, but more horrifying and delicate and traveled. I looked in the mirror stranding on the straight linear white wall, noticed the fat, and subsided. “I’m arriving at Houston tomorrow, so I’ll be late.” “That’s fine,” she answered. We walked into the darkness and began again. Her white-fleshed cream white milky thighs demanded attention, which I astounded with pleasure and displeasure. The reason behind the displeasure, as some would question, is because she groomed me into entering her, with satisfaction I did as impulsive as possible, contain my regret, and came about in her vagina. Trisha also released her dirtied fluids and was satisfied with the sexual act which lasted fourteen minutes. I didn’t like the amounted time. I promised her next time it would last seventeen minutes, or more, dedicated to the foreplay that systematically induces a husband to such degree. She asked me to lick the fluids down in herself. I agreed with pleasure, decided it best to maintain the tongue, and swallow my semen in combination with the lucid fleshed juices that mustered into performance, direct consequence invested my extravagant sucking suction, using both lips and tongue to cause her a masturbating sensation. She motioned with each strife, conformed to the sickening motion, naked together in the nude, we combined our love, and relaxed into a symbolic artistic trance. She held me with her hands, both sides of the head, her fingers soothing the sides. I released further climax onto her sanctification. She then, without remorse, said, “put in two fingers.” “Do what?” I asked. Because I did not understand her words, as she had whispered. She repeated the words, “two of them, now.” and I agreed, again. Her blond hair above her Clint reoccurred to stick to the upper mouth, but I was determined to continue the sexual deeds posturing in control. This had been a well-mannered night, compared to the last few weeks. The deception on television to the movie we watched last night, turned me on, and she was resulting in the idea. “You shouldn’t be turned on at the sight of blood.” “It’s the blood that’s released from the human body that gets me going,” I stated in some sort of lie. What was I hoping to achieve with this woman who turned to me when things went haywire? “What would mother say?” she said. “Don’t bring mother up in this conversation. That’ll do something to me.” “You are so wrong, so, so wrong.” “How I was educated, at least, in the sense of what I was purposing. You married me, suppose that means your also kind of weird, eh?” I literately stated the “eh” with a sort of Canadian portion of extravagance. Those Canadians had no measure in there “he's without knowing that I was the true “her” in the existence of humankind’s annals of historic venues and crafted life. What is life? I thought. No, I’m not Canadian, but a treasured relic in the same correlation of Indian, such as native American blood, but it’s a small chemical in the vessel. I believe I was considered or had the blood of Cherokee within me. I wouldn’t mind having sex with a Native American, I think that would be, how I should say, exotic. Some of those red hands are beautiful and don’t mind me, I’m alone. In reality's sake, I am alone, lonesome, like a bird without a mate flying across the heavens without a doubt inserted into the might that pretends to touchdown the mountain cross, lined with linear roads that end with drift-roads into oceanless veins. If the ocean had veins like the blood veins surrounding our vessels, I think I would take a ride, and see how far I could reach the Chinese Communistic Nation, so that I could annihilate them with the Cherubim at my side. Would he agree with it? The big fucker, Cheurbiel, would more than likely hide behind a crater, or one of those angelic shields he prepared in his bosom of tricks and allow me to shoot the bastard's commies. That’s what’s good about life in America, or the United States if supposed as a secular marine. The United States of America has been downwash and backwashed since the start of 2000 when Bush was activated as the President who declared war on the terrorists. But for what, more currency in the bank, what kind of oil, or gasoline was needed to kill? An excuse, why not? What about the blacks and their divination history? Or the human race is a whole bunch of idiotic compartments to demons and angels, thinking to themselves, “oh, the lightning means they are fighting in the skies, behind clouds, and around the circumference air and atmosphere. Give me a break. I switched Trisha around, turned her front on the bed, and allowed the backside of her ass to channel with my cock, and I rode her like a cowboy on a wild stallion. “What the fuck?” She assured me that she was, indeed, realize into instant pleasure, as she was moaning her usual groanings and moanings, that switched into desperate cries. I always seemed to appreciate her crying, but I slapped her ass and mandated to think about the scarlet flesh reassured onto her white flesh. “Damn it,” she said. “Don’t slap me!” “Sorry, dearest.” I mistook her performance for actual pleasure and realized that she was reading a book while I fucked her in the backside. “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted the shout surprised even me. “Don’t be so loud!” “What’ the hell?” Most of the words were forming, becoming transfixed into a decapitation of sentences, allied with the axis to follow the mandate of fellowship between our souls. “Are you fucking reading a book? A fucking book?” “It’s the bible, leave me alone.” “Who has sex and reads the bible at the same time?” I questioned. I was, indeed, astounded enough to reverse the direction and allow the penis to pretend a little more, and followed into conclusion into me. “You’re not doing anything?” she said. “What does it matter?” “It does matter, I want more---,” she dragged the word “more” like a move I did when we contacted each other after the third date some four-score and seven years ago. “You aren’t into it, anymore.” “Of course I am,” she turned over. “Come !” she bowed her stretched-out arms towards me, and inwards towards her, the fingers collapsed. “Come here, lover. A husband that I love with the most discerning love I can contain.” “Now who sounds crazy?” “You do.” “Thanks.” We embraced with casual kissing, our nude bodies connected, once more, and our venue of faith was increased into fleshed partitions towards greater extents of excitement burned into a yellow-stoned fever. “it sure is hot in here.” “Turn the air conditioner on,” she seemed to have agreed. “You’ll feel better, and I can become cold. You wouldn’t want me when I’m sweating. Well, then again.” “You know how I am, dearest.” I removed my inner being from her vagina, disgusted with the sight of the bed, and walked to the cupboard where I placed the wine glasses and the whiskey. “You forgot the air conditioner,” her voice surreal. Or is it imagined in a course of relevancy? “You can pour us some dirty water after you turn the air on.” I poured the Tennessee Whisky into two glasses of short circumference, and circular abstractions. “You don’t know when to quit do you?” “Here,” I said, walking towards the bed. She was offered the drink, she accepted. “It’ll be fine. We need to think about tomorrow soon. I’m going outside to smoke a cigarette.” “Be quick! It’s nine in the afternoon, we aren’t supposed to be out at this hour. You know?” “Fucking restrictions drive me insane.” “I heard that asshole is thinking about leading the revolution.” I raised the glass of whisky, half gone already. “De revolution,” I said in a Spanish accent. “Wouldn’t that be the rocker? I’d think about helping. Those kids on the other side of the world are feeling the worse of the water drought. And here we are, laying in our room drinking whiskey.” “It’s not our fault that their countries are shit, Cody.” “I don’t know about that.” “What do you mean, dear?” Trisha asked. “We invade these people's homes, burn their households to the ground, and murder them in small groups, grounded, we can’t do much about it. It’s for the sake of the New World Order. I hear the Government has finally taken the initiative to have one currency type in the entire world. Can you imagine? Remember when countries had their dedicated money system? Ever since China, it’s been complete shit.” “We don’t have to worry about it, as long as you stay in your current membership with the office.” “I know, dearest. But sometimes, I wonder what the hell I’m thinking. The boss doesn’t like when I ask questions, and the service in the damn building is pitiful. But, there was once a time when I was warned not to ask questions by the big man. He said that he didn’t remember how questions were even realized. Why ask them?” he said. “I don’t remember a time when I questioned our government. Things happen alongside the line, and we find ourselves doing the duties of our Creator. Peace and Salutations. “Peace and Salutations,” she answered. “The humans are unable to hear me, correct?” “That’s a number one thought you’ve had today. Yes, Cody. They can’t hear you unless you talk with them. Does that compute?” “Indeed, I seek attention too much. I’d do a whole lot if it weren’t for God’s awesomeness for me to have attention by angelic beings, rather than human beings. The Cherubims, thrones, seraphim, and all those Doamnions can hear my thoughts, darest not demons can, but the ones that are important to me offered to me from God are the ones who command legions into thoughtless control. I need to overload the brain, restart.” “You can’t just restart, Cody. You need something in life that isn’t flesh, but rather, a mental mission to abide with, to work, and make money. You need to stop living in a fantasy, and get your ass out there and make something of yourself. Make friends, even. Who knows, maybe God will give you someone this year to be friends with, huh?” “I don’t know,” I said, laying my palm on her effortless hand laid on the bed. “Dearest, I don’t want friends. But I do. Do you know what I’m saying? I’m afraid to sacrifice this life for the sake of torture.” “You talk with me, don't you?” “You are the only friend I need that’s in the flesh, with skin, with bone and marrow. You have thoughts and decide to live with me. Though I would rather live somewhere else. I would like to be rich, but I don’t know if it’s quite possible at the moment. When does one know when to stop treating himself with excuse after excuse?” I bowed downwards, deepened shadows outlined the enclosed imagiatigvedarkness around us. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I think I need to die.” “You won’t kill yourself, will you? Do we need to see the hospital?” she quickly reverberated. “I don’t mean to say you need to be there. It’s just when you start talking and writing about death it seems to take a toll on you.” “I want to die, it’s true,” I shouted the words inside of my mind, but the whispers came out in unrealistic seriousness. I almost gasped at the sound of such words being named. “What about someone at work? You know, talk to someone besides the therapist.” “I can’t talk to anyone that has an educated view on the world or a view that is superstitious.” “I know, how about Chruch? We both have friends at the Church?” “I don’t know if those people are even real followers of Christ.” “Come on, bro. You need to lighten up. No talking about killin’ yourself, okay?” “Okay.” She ushered a hand over my face and scrubbed the sideburns with her forefinger, It was comfortable. “Smile that smile I fell in love with, dear. You can do this. You try too hard these days. I’m fine where we live. At least you allow me comfort, and you make me laugh, and your good under the sheets. You don’t have to worry.” “I’m sorry I couldn’t supply a child in your life.” “Don’t worry about things like that. We’ve talked about this. I don’t blame you.” we both paused. Trisha continued to avail her words to a degree of sexual interaction. “You know, I’m kind of glad we can’t have children. But, I wouldn’t mind adopting if that option ever comes along. What about it?” “Adoption, huh?” Trisha was concerning herself about the matters placed inside the interior of the human heart. The content I would have to adopt a child is found, and viable in the construction of the human heart, once more detailed onto the exact measure that pronounces love. “Adoption…” “Let’s not get too hasty now, it’s just a suggestion.” She leaned over into the bed, covered her naked breasts, and she said, “You can smoke the cigarette in here. They won’t find out.” “I don’t know, what about Bobby, our neighbor for ten years in this very apartment?” “I don’t want to talk about Bobby, right now. He was an asshole anyway.” “But it wasn’t right what they did to him, was it?” “Human lives are not equal, Cody. That’s how the world works, we are simply lucky to be granted the ability to live on through hard work.” “Ever since the mandate to exterminate the Africans and the blacks in America, I couldn’t believe it. What happened wasn’t right. Bobby didn’t mean to smoke in his house, but he needed it. He can’t get out. You know, his wheelchair, he’s disabled. But the force still held him, arrested him, and scanned his entire functions. He’s dead, now. Isn’t he?” We both understood the answer. “I can’t live like this, Trisha. I need to lean in and...what is it?” I looked onto Trisha, who was showing half her breasts, underneath the bedsheets, worn and tired. Her eyes were viewed with instant attention, wide and protruding from her sockets. But when she realized I was staring at her, she formed a small crease in her eyes, back to a normal stance. This woman would likely burn me at the stake, crucify me, and laugh about it. But, what am I to her in all honest opinions, I wouldn’t know, as I don’t talk or communicate with her all that much, lest I have free time from work, which is never advisable. “Come to bed or smoke, I don’t care. What is done is done, and that’s how the world works. Never forgive those people for their misdeeds and misconduct. They didn’t deserve to be arrested, they needed to be discussed from the world.” “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe.” But what accounted for the final execution in the late Spring of 2076 was tremors of resistance. The protests excruciating across the world, and thus, the main function decided it should be concerned with its vital detail to die, to be killed. To have a modern Genocide with concentration camps situated outside and inside Democratic cities. First was Detroit, then further on to even Dallas. The misinformation was severe, none would believe such acts were occurring, as the news coverage had been destroyed by their lies of the past, so nobody believed them. The main news stations cried wolf, and none answered. Instead, the machines dedicated their metal to functional work and dropped out human interests. Workers were consumed with metal, and some maintained augmentations, against the Church, but were considered absolute in their prerogatives. Just to have a mission in life, to earn money was hard enough, but to pay for more augmentations just to settle a job. It didn’t fit out well for the current generation. The manufactured system institutionalized the education system, the education board was commanded to drop all charges on the students, from kindergarten to twelfth grade, the students would be manufactured to believe in the wholesome Government, the Continual Supremacy to Allow dislocation and disemboweled their minds to believe in the words of our Creator. Our Chancellor of the cities, of the nation, of the world. Gordon Freeman Saint of the Highest Order and Tremor of the ancient world. Chaos bane without the sword to adjust into the earth. “You ever hear about the antichrist?” |
| Making plans towards forming a mundane creature noticed instantly by their compartments addresses natural relevancy compounded to create newborn flesh. Signs of its travels are never opportune without kissing somebody's ass. By far, I hardly remember time concepts formed with elegant petite women of a more attractive and shorter nature qualified beyond their discreet measure. I do recall a specific time of context, be it mine or those, who commanded to annihilate anyone calling this particular, fascinating woman “corrupt in length, short in height, believing naturally a dismissive obstruction based on their feministic valued body. The woman’s mind though dare I write exceedingly through the night, is mature and undivided. Her resilience towards punctuation signaled oppression against her fellow scientists, workers of miracles planted with spiritual seeds to either advance, which I declare hopefully righteous, awhile others deform naturally in promised sin. Moho is birthed into desolation, but confines promising results, like a bridle clapping barbed wire fence delicate to rip some poor saps intentions to invade. Mihoho cut several head figures, important individuals rather wearing attire suited for bank account charity, rather than instant pleasure onto the lonesome and valued self-concerned bottom-loaded nutrition infuriating counted imbecile amounts of cancer cells. What manner of godliness persuades a functioning man to spread tears across filmed fabric? The highest, most expensive cost money can buy? Purchasing blue lines within fabrics of deeper shades of natural blue? Unlike Moho's counterparts, she exemplifies her dressed body in a ritualistic white lab coat, directly settling eyes, placed on her, as a motivation to transcribe as a possible scientist initiated into a world we, humans, mandated to break in despair mounted sin. Surely mankind got the calm idea fixated in their mind, “we can’t solve death, let alone discover the fountain of youth. Aren’t they coming tonight?” Mindless failure to create intelligible functioning words persuades me direly, as it should also to the main interested reading compound of maintained elements to signal forwards on a full-bodied beach surfacing, exceeding closer each year. Circling overland, prominent with her right hand, she explains her findings and subdued curiosity in Creation, by all standards let the woman speak! She eats compassionately investing traveling agents of meat into her dire meal. “I noticed you like taking breaks after work.” “I need a smoke before I lay my head down in that place. Negotiations are futile in this place. I can’t seem to think straight, ‘Momo’,” I said her definitive nickname I created in a pro-fused acting capability two years earlier. “what happens if they find out?” “Don’t question things! They’ll pulverize you! Think nothing of it!” “The mandates, the deformed considerations. I can’t take it much more, I want out.” “That's irrelevant and highly impossible. Trust me when I say this: you should get out while you still have your identity. Before time kicks your mother's ass out, and nothing can be done.” “What does that accomplish?” I contained, in scores founded inappropriate time, a minor confession delicate and chanced with demise and demeanor stated. The tremors started to activate underneath the stars, delicate and ablaze with balanced light that sent out, forwards, and transmitted information to NASA with the words that the most human contemplative compulsive individual could make headway with. It stated: “Bring home our boy, our little lad—Rhine Eater.” |
| Sitting—that’s what man has been doing for the last twenty years, balling his side of the court. Finding little to do, to achieve in a blameless walk down old sycamore avenue, or the Banks beside the River Styx. It’s all an imaginary game to people, and still, I wonder this stinking town in search. But for what? Mindless aims and narcotics in detail are pressured to an exactness too profound to even out the beginning score. And still, we sit. We wait, confused. The neighbors across the yard are having eventual matters dealing with prior neighbors, annihilated and controlled with human screams. No, not screams of blood and horror, not even a balance in fruition. Indeed, what might seem like a loud shrill is a small parable child who shrills antagonistic performance. Daily, again and again, like a bell toll repeating a clanging renaissance. And as stated before, I am typing away one-handed. The embrace of cheap plastic, the damn thing, announces itself as prosperity. Knowing, as the human customers say, is half the battle. I am best learned, deficiencies aside, by teaching and scrolling into interaction with my prominent voice, sad and disguised with heated working to avail my curious interests. “oh, but what can be done? Achievements in trial and error are boundless ventures, endless in their mitigated scope.” well, screw that! I have a morbid date to up handle, tracing daily living lights from the railroad conductor, with a smile not even a child of four and lower in age could ever hope to muster upon their twitching and satisfied expression. Indeed, children are limited. But boundless adults know everything. “Isn’t that right, Venetians?” I wonder if the slender devil can hear my progressing thoughts at the current amid wave-starched interior. “drag—” “What of it?” Trisha Burntwood said. What a lovely piece of soft white meat, or, I mean...skin. Wait, that’s devouring me into a black hole, too. “what are you doing?” “nothing.” I fiddle, almost caressing my jean pocket with my right hand, fingers twiddling above and beyond layers. Fabric enticed to exist upon feelings. “you said something, just now. Speak to me about it. Don’t leave me in the darkroom again.” “Dearest, you know I wouldn’t do that, right?” what'd do to be in a dark room alongside you in a clean and prepared bed, driven with my steering wheel. “don’t think nothing of it.” “right. You know everything there is about me, is that it? Come on, your leaving me, aren't you? You would too. You never even learned how to masturbate correctly with your right hand, by Jove’, you never express your feelings, and I'm glad you are leaving because—a,” “---leave?” I whispered. “leave!” I shouted. “you dumb broad, fucking cow manure. You think I should leave! Why not break me down some more while you have time.” “what do you mean ‘time’?” she replied. The bitch used my tone in her throat, shivering me timbers I don’t confess this next act but I'm interested to discover a few membranes holding together in the morning light. “You never think. Let alone think about how I feel.” “Dearest, you are so fucking minded right now.” “you had to say it!” her hands shot up to her face, creating a fleshed shield. “perhaps you don’t love me anymore. I knew it—I did so know it!” “are those tears?” I leaned in. "You are crying because you think I’m about to head off to some war, to die?” “you do it all the time, God helps me.” “Trisha, come now. You must hold off on the grand delusions. I’m here, right here.” I commuted the sin of conformity. Not a deadly guess or notion of sin, but a sin nonetheless. “how is my honey pie, come here dear,” she had the nerve to recuperate as if it were all a mild acting performance. One calls it alligator tears. A mushed affection so believable as if to ensnare a few pounds, and lose it over the coming night. “you don’t know a thing about me. How long has it been?” “What has been?” I asked, curious and anticipating the next few words I would ever hold dear to me like a crown of silver, not bronze, or the disgusting worm crown. “you can tell ol’ Jack, why?” “Sex,” she said, to a point in her voice I could not hear well, but I still leaned closer and answered with a sigh of fake confusion. Oh, I know and understood her shameful expression. I understand this bitch like the back of my whit old hand. “You what?” how it feels to also be part of the theater. “What was that?” “We haven't had sex in months.” “months?” I overacted, she sees right through me. “Don’t act like an idiot.” |
| “What occurrence has occurred onto our vision, the directive has entered into the main command. What are we achieving but the transfer of our strength into demolition? What shall our endeavor create onto direct motives? None are able to aid without the clause and classification that recreates realities and fixated truths that are bounded and loosened in heaven and on earth. “Whatever is bounded in heaven is bounded on earth; whatever is loosened in heaven is loosened on the earth.” The words are filled with flowing blood, collateral damage has never abducted me before, and still, I can hear the low motions and movements of the human feet pattering skin soft on the cold tile in the small countless rooms within the residential area of the hospital, where I am stationed. It’s too dark to see the threshold and main area in the patient room, but I can hear the pattering of soft small footsteps aimed towards my direction. “What shall I confess to the dead?” Pattered down and feeling the loss of national resistance, I take travels, wander about the neighborhood without those who slumber to know the difference between sunshine and moonbeams starched off the Coast of the Gulf of Mexico. What could be done when a man decides to lick one bone and the other chicken bone? Freedom does ignite terrible chances and aroused suspiciousness that devoid the human mind without answer. The statements that abide in love are concerning me with doubt and double-standards that protrude from the human heart, like a brain without a colored pink membrane, I wonder in content that I am considered odd, and most profound when decided onto instantaneous genius, which occurs in rare form these hours of the day. “What can be done?” I tell myself, “what can possibly occur to change the world at this very moment?” I examine both animals in the main room. Snow and Ares are both licking and cleaning themselves, in the darkness of night. Snow continues to scratch herself, for whatever reason be considered; Ares attempts to slumber, and doesn’t have a problem maintaining, awhile I am over here on the document placer, “estranged by words that dominate my mind like suffice fire.” What can be done for inquired temptation unbounded clause, both hands tied at the slim wrists? I attempted to scrounge free, but the holder irritated fresh scarlet hives. Irritation confounded to an absurd variable statement! “We are the deadbeat club, concerned with humankind’s venture into the earth, where demons ironic in their contentment fastened to the heart of humankind, does invade the truth behind our crust treasured mountains. “I have been working on fictional stories for a while now, and could possibly require a break from this Journal, but I want to maintain, and differ into different stations of thought; awhile I am contained and sane, there be angels behind chariots of fire swirling and pounding the clanging storms above our heads. We feel the sensations of rain stumped and drained down our bodies, cause of cold freeze to blank our human backside. “Could mankind find the vision to reenter onto God’s Promised Land through the Lord Yeshua?” “The backside of the television set demands me to love one human after another, but I shall show love to those who are commanded onto God’s domain, as the Antichrists of the world tried to defraud me, lie, and advance without God’s blessing and Presence, but their hearts can not avoid the Presence of Creation.” I stood, the bed maintained and in well-offered order. Not one crippled wrinkle in the sheets. “Come,” I said. “Let’s continue to challenge the human intellect and human mind with distress and stressed sighed treaties.” “Do I need more coffee?” I wondered outwards from the brain. “What can be done, indeed?” I stationed forwards into the kitchen, checked the blackened pot, and noticed the washed and emptied blankness that subsided inside the coffee pot. I was starched and wondered if I should replace the filters and the coffee grains with what I purchased at the store two days ago. “What kind was it, oh, that’s correct! It was Hazelnut coffee from Folgers, and I wonder if it’s worthwhile to mention I have sugar-free creamer that dictates smooth drinking.” I stood for several seconds listening to the band Devo within the mention of earphones and decided to create more accurate focus from the substance watered-down channel of flowed love and the desire for coffee pleased me and became sensitive and obtrusive. I entered onto love. “I need to drink coffee before I end this morning with darkness and closed eyelids, wondering in content and thinking about the coffee will abide closure to casual conversations never spoken and addressed in the speech.” I breathed inwards constant and consistent with the small snout; with the jaw closed; I aired words through the best made available in the air purified into this existence, and I said: “Whose aim does ride in cars without vehicular motions to die?” The lids were anchors drifted at the bottom of the flesh; were closing and opening with the strength divided between awakened state and sleeping stature convinced of nature. What could be done, remain awake as I write, or reach the couch and close the mind and enter onto slumber, deepened onto universal trust with Yeshua and YHWH? Indeed, God, I need to reassure slumber and visit onto its mainframe before I fall deeper into a narcotic sleep that won’t avoid the nature of nightmares and differing love contained in the human imagination. But I continue to compose without mistrust or insertion into dreaded aversion. What should I contend to achieve while I await the bedtime to initiate and become unrestricted to me? Focus on the words—literal literature does invade human imagination! Trusted and void, the world becomes severely detained; reform is inevitable towards impossibility that deforms human intellect without measure or clueless hesitation clued in on the destruction of the self. Three more words the world demands me to confine into slumber, but I must write about the one man who commands the current page, whose name does invite Jackson to the table of the Lord Yeshua? “Go brew some coffee,” said the main loser: Venetians. “You’ll feel a whole more abundant and true to the station and style you resist to commemorate without reason or different change.” Dread into slumber contains the beast from hearing me sneak about the household in hopes not to awake mama and sister; I cultivate to examine the room and search for the hint of animals and most impressive are the cats who persist to walk about the rooms without a hint of sound to reside their realized area. I wonder if one is near me at the moment? Perhaps I should lie on the couch, close both areas of vision, and slumber into dreamless invocations. Who could change me to the brim of this facial structure into a beautiful, handsome straight style? Our love demands me to confine in the Creator's name; does God reside in sound? More shall be added later on through the time I have been allowed. Continue to write, even when the balance is off. The answer to these simple measures questions shall detour into an explanation without proper explanations for beliefs and opinions to concepts adapted to trip the current leader into default submission. While I motioned the interaction with the Injustice: Gods Among Us on the PlayStation 4 console, I mandated to think of corrosion, when I connected, the challenges awaited me, and I did defeat them with brisk and quickened motion of the fingers, gripping the shaded tanned blue controller with a dedication to overcome the trials found and discovered reasonable, unreasonable, and dedicated towards factual evidence. I accomplished the mission vindicated and functioned to write the fundamentals conducted for realities sake. Following is Green Arrow, as one must confiscate selection for each character, the characters available with certified trials for each character available for selection in the game. “This is the fun sunshine I have awaited since the birth of this creation, this imaginative congruence that belongs in the heavenly thrones database. One must tolerate the characters one does not have interest in, in trust to confuse the trials with methods that license fulfillment. “This is Rockin!” shouted Jackson as he danced onto the beat that mustered from the under bellows of his musical taste. “Get down, baby!” he said while he fixed his arm straight upwards, his forefinger dancing alongside his vibe and mellow contortions. Trisha on the other more dominant hand cringed with an appreciation for her husband, who dressed in leather fashioned from the hands of his mother. What a dream, eh? He could be a detective, find the cult that continues to abduct children, find that the cult has decided to sacrifice children to the demon known as Little Paimon. "Dance, little Emergency Food, we have a thoughtless bounty to be handling here. Do you know what I am reminded of when I look at you?" "What would that be?" she asked in curiousness, leaning inward. "A child!" I answered. “Why you little—Paimon is Paimon, nothing else!” the little squirt decided to say while her little arms and infant vessel convulsed inwards and outwards. She seemed quite upset with the conversation at hand. “You don’t know squat! I'll have you know I have found there to be three simple things in life and not one of the meanings concerns you!" she said, continuous in her boiled thoughts, heating up like temperatures drought. "So make up your mind, already!” she became a terror more than a traveling companion. “Let’s rock, bro before the show!” Jackson said to Paimon, who continued to stress a hand over her head’s temple, both lids closed in sounded mind. “I have returned to the musical balance made true.” |
| The acidic evaluation tells me sending factual data into a computer is mandatory, almost more concerning than copied and pasted venues of appetite. What lonesome adventurers? The night has borrowed me flawlessly, fixating thoughts and personal thinking processing towards destruction, settling among the tombstones, shifting in the ocean waves, filled with love and motion. “Address me to satisfied content, and I’ll leave,” said Venetians, concerned. “You need to remain home tonight and fall asleep at appropriate times. You know what I’m telling’ you?” he did not remove his gaze, stared onto me like burning coal of flame, contained inside inferior detention of blackened soot. Afraid I was to speak, but I motioned towards the waters on the sanded beach, concerned he still remained. He walked with me, beside the ocean waves amassed in future blessing and traveling coordination into directions unbound and aroused we became, and interested to have fun in the sunshine, which did not occur, but it would had been fun. "Would the demon Seraphim Venetians like to splash water at each other?" I stretch one hand outwards with my dominant arm, and I continue to finish what I started. "Perhaps I could purchase a bikini for that slender body you restate each time you awaken?" "Shut it, the a' kid I don't have time for—as you concern such words—splashing' you in the face like a little bitch. Now, come. We have work ahead of us." become gods...become gods… What memorable apprentice does exact his ultimate revenge on people such as credulous travelers, who are investigating the truth behind our natural elements, concerning isn’t it? What? Oh, God. She desires to read the formation of words correlated into direct sentences, fashioned like some blood cult. Doesn’t concern me at the moment, there are other familiar ideas to apprehend at the current moment. Who would dare incite such blatant thoughts against the Creator? Yeshua, I ask forgiveness, I beg, and beg, but I know I’ve done the offensive thing against You Almighty Creator. I beg: “Let me lead these humans to that motive that is considered wisdom and knowledge, formatted and direct, like these sentences. “Forevermore concerned, eh, Venetians?” I just want to be your friend, laid here in the pressure vault, alone and desperate for a friend. Someone to hold hands with, discern the condemned, and the corners of this world resembled with Churches planned in Christ Jesus’ name, where life is formidable, and I am detestable onto timid interact love. “God, the sting of a blade inserted slow and steady into my right side of the spine, where muscular venues are attracted and twisted, thus I feel insufferable. “There is pain here, thus I shall continue to overlap the truth, and divide the nation against its creation foremost taken into desolation. “I’ll head to bed. I don’t want to think about these things anymore.” |
| As I dreamed in the consciousness made available, I wondered in content: “Don’t die onto drastic measures, but die for Christ Jesus who commands me to belong to the heavens—there be strength and power in those words! Continue to channel love through Yeshua, the Christ. Continue to abide hatred towards evil, do not be discouraged as time is ill, and love is still. Jackson admitted that his hands were cold from the cold climate force-fed infatuation with his fleshed skin. His arteries blocking natural currents shuffled his hands together, blew into them with comfortable warmth, and returned his hands to the keyboard to initiate written works he believed to be beautiful.’ The utter confusion settles on the town of Laceirona, and I am concerned for her offering borders to neighboring kingdoms. The king has issued a warning to all civilians to not confess to God the meaning and wonderment of the entire universe, as time pastures forth into unknown travel agents, we must confine ourselves into a delicate embrace towards all brothers and sisters of the faith. Demand the death of the demon's hectic travels, as we travel into the ballistic cold, traveling without challenge, demanding trust onto God, forever concerning. As I remember the past events leading to this location in our dilemma, drastic actions settled like frost on a blade of grass. I wonder in confusion as to why God has labeled me here in this location—where the demanding trust for an island and a beach beside the watered Gulf of Mexico astonishes everyone else but me. “I tend to think that the beach is a movement for appreciation for humanity; I do not confess to loving anything in this world, but this is the truth of the matter at hand.” Eleven or more years ago, I dressed these feet with sores as I walked the streets of the corner of a city named Lake Jackson, right next to the Sea Center of Brazoria County; I walked and walked without issue or deformations in the mental activities made true. I became contained and available to understand ignorance as a mental illness later on in advanced life. After school and into the night, watching the street lights as I passed, visioning into the coldness of winter. It was a time of exactness that pronounced versions of love and kindness—in other words, it’s how I believed to think actively, where I commuted trust and committed attraction with walking the graceful neighborhood around the areas I resided. The motions of life concern me to a delicate embrace. Without the answers of hands folded, fingers collided into comfortable stance, I wonder in amazement at the reasons of laziness inside human interiors even unbalanced exteriors do suffice to belong to the construction of lazy hands and minds, concerned, very concerning. The fucking and sucking humans do suckle their breasts without cause or reason besides the portion of pleasure selfishly inserted onto themselves. Is this the meaning of life, to decide the trust needed and confounded into delicate trust? Accompany me into desperation that I might understand the peace that God offers and receives onto me like a burst of delicate sunshine bursting out of the darkened clouds, thundering, and passing. The portions of man’s meat have confessed its sins. Human flesh does not apprehend forgiveness; portions delicate and fragile and easy to slice and cut concerned me for the longest time followed—directly involved with hatred confessed! Free from the desperation that once were felt, motioned, and exacted into reality. The words formed inside the interior of the concerned mind strengthen with power or divide the mind into insane beliefs: thus do not tell oneself “they are simply thoughts, they have not strengthen. Abide, and believe them not, as thoughts conduct the truth, wondering in pastures of green fields, without heresy to abide in its curved hills. The powers that have made entry into my soul confess their sins and spiritual resistance. The sunshine reaches me with honest content and concern, devoured into the swimming blood shafted into the ocean-side. Jackson wondered in his mind the natural occurrence of any human, thinking coherent: What can I achieve in the next three seconds? Like routine, I shall write continually, interact with video games, and become traditional in belief and thoughts, as strength is made true through Yeshua, the Christ. Jackson remained steadfast, continued his phrase, delighted: “Accompanied love does desire me, trusts me, and confines me in a cell of love to have the abilities to recall and transform into final forms, transformations staged in three acts. Jackson is oneself, the desire to contain life, the desire to have a soul, and the desire to transfer this soul onto Yeshua, the Christ. Who can cease me when God does abide onto one’s side?” Confusion did not settle on Jackson this earliest morning; no, indeed, he dissuaded the mind from its horrible apprenticeship, contained the hatred, and threw the wastes into the leaked restroom. “What wonders, indeed!” he shouted out loud; none heard him, no, not one ear listened but His God YHWH, or Jehovah, the Creator of life and the entire functions of the mental and elemental universe. “All is well here in this tempted trust, demand me that I abide in ordinance and content for doing the will of our Creator, through the Son of God, Yeshua.” He handled closure into his mental activities, became surreal, and challenged himself to question the likeness of images that pronounce in great degrees across the broad statements of mindful introductions and conclusions. “What revelation will be subbed into reality for the sake couched in love?” The motions in his life convoluted his heart, but he kept wrenches and rusted nuts and bolts to command maintenance onto the heart, where he found the words of the documented love of God on the tablet of his eternal heated command. The demand to trust God was inflicted with corrosion, washed out, and crafted like draft wood from the other side of the earth. “Do demand,” he said, “that humankind is washed like the wood on the seas, drifted and draft like compassion situated onto human evil, where man and woman divide the trust offered onto submissive evil. Dissuade evil, and do not resist the truth which is Yeshua, the Christ. Do what is Good in the name of God.” “Without appointments in love, the simple life can not be adjusted without a wrench tightening the bolts and the screws, clockwise, towards the detention of higher numbered equivalents of numbered intentions.” Jackson pondered excessive attributes, wondering matters concerning his wholesome thoughts determined to mine underneath the mind and change the direction of the eternal flow; fluid introduced the blood, which he consumed, and pleasured the natural occurrences that make a man retired and older. “Jack, what are you doing up so late?” Trisha announced, from behind the threshold holding the bottom of her hand to her eye sockets, which she mustered to rub meticulously. “You need to do something else that clacking is making me go crazy.” “Dearest,” Jackson answered, “I have been conducting great words onto the sheets of digital appreciation. There are memories here—I shall abide to understand them, lost these things have been, they have to dissuade for such a long period, but now—what reason at all but to find memories and know the meaning behind lectures?” “I don’t think you took your medication yet. I’m going to get it.” “Please,” Jackson repeated. “Please, let me write this while I have the motivation and inspirations to achieve greatness onto Christ?” Trisha appeared to have understood, smiled, and left the threshold of the “document room”, which is what she named it for reasons of contortions and deliberate acts in specific reasoning. Trisha Burntwood shall be acknowledged across the entire functions of the world. She’ll be the reason I want to continue the suffering. I’ll reassure to conduct and be strong in the mental mind—continue on-wards, wild man!" Never shall I drink Whisked Whiskers, and traveling salesman shalt attempt to abide a contract with me. I know the spirit is strong, but the flesh is weak; I might purchase that contracted land up North, where the land becomes traveled onto travelers, maintained and disordered, or separate, does incite me to confess: I masturbate too much! he said, considering the night had come, he wondered if he sounded awkward at that point, directing his words onto the sheet of white computer paper. His writing was prominent for someone who has been writing and handwriting words and English for the last twenty-some years. Jackson had a feministic venue of style to his penmanship. But Jackson minded his shortcomings and became confused with the sight of cursive writing. Jackson decided it best, to remain constant on his quest: There are things in this world that contend to amount to small bits of information, raddled and situated in the darkest pits of calamity, bringing forth destruction and desolation among the tribes of Israel. For what more reason does Israel take its course in the main dish, complaining to their God, a companion, does squatting to take a shit? The Companion seeks to please Israel, but the people and their odd culture are dissuaded in their faith and do not resolve their issues towards God, but instead are traded into detention. Jackson dropped his blackened pen, sat up straight, and massed his left hand over to his crippling right hand. He moved his left hands' grip across the right hand's surface, as a tinge of pain resonated from it. When Trisha returned to the kingdom embraced in Jackson’s mind, he structured upwards and kissed her in a well-mannered mouth-to-mouth embrace. She chuckled inside, outwards it came. She became futile, desperate for sexual interaction. She determined that she could take him to the quells noticed, but felt like the known as considered. Of course, she had the appearance sitting on models' faces. As she noticed his smile, she said, “Come inside to bed with me!” and of course, Jackson, the fine husband, does interact well with her worthwhile vessel; her breasts flat-boarded but petite and delicate to formulate hands towards, almost like a massage to pleasure his wife---she follows his hands and breathes deeper to rate the notion“ What handsome facial structures do object to the curiosity of a woman's attractive traits? Do women confine in love for the user, or do they dot themselves as superior, contagious in their bed, and deserted in the night until morning finds itself situated into a still-freeze?" |
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