003

another crock of crud. when I could be clickedy-clackin on the Olympus, I'm here talkin' ta you. why should I care if i never leave clues, is it my fault that it could be assumed that when you throw a little data in the soup it could go corrupt and wind up as throw-up on some screen in Timbucktoo? sprinkled one single on into a mixed bowl of ons and offs morphing the macroghost crystalline structures to a new paradigm, twenty cents is all a paradigm costs us when it's all said and done, when they're all sad and dumb, they'd rather just buy a tattered pair of jeans, a prayer of scenes, a dream of something that proves something that could give peace, another little piece of my soul squeezes it's way through another skin pore orifice into the outer scene, the silly joke that i can touch and taste, that everything swims and pisses in, a taint tainted by tainted taints, wasn't this all supposed to mean something?