It was a day of lumbering bark, a bark a lumbered wood along the grassy knoll. The cave hobbit looked at the shiny coins on the floor and squinted, too bright, too bright, the sun shone on. Glasses the hobbit muttered, winked at the sun in rather rambly tones then looked at the shiny coins and crawled with a stick to proper height. A flick a, tick, a snick, there, that should clear the way, who leaves shiny metal lying around like that. Indeed the tiny nosed hedgehog took a sniff, whiff, a sniffle as the air blew reconstituted baby powder and perfume. Those stormy nights couldn't be any more roamy than avocados in a tree. a fig and a grape bounced lightening quick as the traffic congestion blocked the sultry sultanas view of the soap foaming the dishes. hahah, oh there were carrots, and mangoes, and pumpkins, and berries, and celery's and celebrities with ferries mowing dry grass along the lumbering bark, a barely soiled slumber.
Oh this should be good I ate some coconut sauce...its always amusing how my brain reacts to different sauces. Its almost like that time, Flopped and canopy of water down fell water of balloon bursting the seems. Something about backward remedies. Seems the bursting balloon of water fell down water of canopy and flopped. hahaha, amused.
Those dear backward soundtracks in the creviced of spaces. Then the radio blared, holler some flashlight lamps as the energy deflated in the room, those precious light bulb moments when the night goes out filled with crisp fresh humid air amidst the chirping crickets and fans.
Ah yeah, might be snoozy time those REM's in the theta zone. Thy nefarious sauces produceth a conflagration of mixtures thy pallet finds delectably fleeting, demonstrably tasty and oh so fruity with thee extra zang a zing a ding, dang you are so not gonna get me to recite the bible in okaly dokaly...hell hath fury like flanderesses.
You did not just see that!
Cave shaped rocks with crockery and spoons, bend them like beckhams, those football flaps churned like toffee apple and licorice.
Someone confessed to me that an associate of theirs committed an act they were never punished for. Though they didn't necessarily mean for it to come about, it was still entirely their fault and only a select few know the truth. At first it was just information that was interesting to know, but now that I think about it, I wonder how this person sleeps at night? Do they think about killing themselves? What separates this person from a serial killer/mass murderer, or are they similar to a serial killer/mass murderer in that they (often) don't feel remorse? What did they feel or think when they looked into their victim's eyes? How are the relatives of this victim feeling and why didn't the person I know tell the authorities? I'd like to sit down and ask them these questions and more, but something tells me it wouldn't go over well...
“'Fuck', I think. What a beautiful word. If I could say only one thing for the rest of my life, that would be it.”