hansel

Mother Walrus was despondent. Her children, Antony and Leopold (whom, later by force of accidental malaise would be known as Leopold the Bold), were raising a ruckus to the frock of human kindness. We are all band from the forest of human weakness. As it rests in the catacombs of human weakness; you are my transparent bride. You are the the peril of commonality. You are unbeknownst to the colony of infidelities, our bewildered protagonist, is the excremental clich; you, my lover. As if the existential battle for a thousand stings is worthwhile; you are lost, then found.

Simply, I dashed your name into sand. Like all carnivals of humanity, my body, she is a temporary illusion. Ive done my best to dash it. Ive thrown it onto the CG screen; the type of 3D to make Ralph Bakshi jealous. He stirs in his grave. Not realizing; you are automatic.

Mother Walrus has raised a ruckus. She knows that posuerism is at fault for holidays and conclaves of force. Brought up on symbolism, yet weaned on the paranoid delusions of minimum wage professorships. Maybe I owe the beast. For he knew his new number; the apartment in which I live, was the number of the callousness of the hipsteratti. Give beast fowl, cry Mary, no one watches the watchtower; except on reality television. Fae Victus.

Antony ascends; like a thunder clap of stars prevailing into the southernly direction of nothingness. Space ends and we fall into the end of existence. I am then a modern day aristocracy. You will laugh at my ignorance and realize that existence is a sphere.