This morning I was trained as a receptionist and helped the nicest smelling old man fill in a questionaire about our practice.
I ate chiliconcarne in The Friends Cafe, which I thought would be cool but it wasn't. I read Country Living and only now do I make the connection between my thoughts over last October's issue of whatever fashion/women's magazine it was that I perused while I waited in the waiting room for sweet, old, tonguey Alec Bates and realised that this year's fashions would be similar to last year's fashions but with extra crunk and the Country Living propogated interiors. Current Country Living.
Does anyone else feel like God has just died?
Ontology: the invisible penis in the hand of the wanker-mocker.
I ate chiliconcarne in The Friends Cafe, which I thought would be cool but it wasn't. I read Country Living and only now do I make the connection between my thoughts over last October's issue of whatever fashion/women's magazine it was that I perused while I waited in the waiting room for sweet, old, tonguey Alec Bates and realised that this year's fashions would be similar to last year's fashions but with extra crunk and the Country Living propogated interiors. Current Country Living.
Does anyone else feel like God has just died?
Ontology: the invisible penis in the hand of the wanker-mocker.
Where's the truth in that? Your poem feels like an illusion. Is that were you put the truth?
" is based on the only true experience of my entire life.
Even a nihilist has trouble denying the truth of death