(… a compilation of habitually destructive habits lie writhing thrashing in the waste of what was once mistaken as human life, a starving memory alone on tear slick city motor ways wandering through blistered valleys cold concrete mosaics of wasted ambitions of an almost imperceptibly silent drivel…)
John Smith Jones was an all American blackish yellowish tick-like apparition, often appearing in washrooms where city officials pleased themselves to mental pictures of isometric velvet dwarves but never actually exhibiting signs of excitation for apparitions claim to not be real (or more precisely to be more real than the generalized preconception of real) and find partaking in pleasures of the flesh not only a laughable concept but largely a tool of the devil.
“Ah, the devil." (… like a breath of insanity reaching it’s tendrils to the dark corners of the psyche to copulate with and shed light on the various personal vulgarities inherent within all self consuming jelly-like hate beasts whose soul purpose remains to be the arbitrary arranging in single file lines to defile the soul)
"…Strapping young lad as I may recall, presupposing he or I exist, an advocate of impersonal hygiene, distasteful sort, like a tapeworm of a tapeworm, in fact I recall what he said to me that fatefully inconsequential day, so forgive me as I indulge in the use of double quotations."
“”End the was there, time upon a once.””
(…algebraic equations twist themselves into portraits of mothers of sons of prehistoric ceremonial psychic-zero manifestations, feeding on the inconsistencies of the real and/or/if unreal .stop. preparations for the great and final migration have been temporarily postponed due to circumstances beyond all human perception .stop. .go. .stop…)
