Vinyl formation. Hot glue gun apotheosis. Interminable joy. A frustration in the eyes of the mad man.
I’d like to sit both ends of this phony Culture War down together for a nice cup of tea and a chat. It would be great.
Involuntary schemes; awash with the spite of a thousand millennia. Now I see the way I am heading, I’m fine.
Molecular insight, akin to entropic engineering. A diorama of virtue and its inherent disassociativity.
A walk in the woods of where and when we will never wonder. Will we wander? Why, we will to wish.
Ian Fleming’s James Bond stories never stood still. They experimented. The films don’t do that.
You know those days when you wake up and you kind of know where you are, but you kind of don’t? Chapter One: Lessons In Temporal Displacement