So what if the sucking world quit spinning–Imagine more than substance–It falls in over it anyhow–My glasses on without me–The open mouth for the Daily Tomb–It’s passions that I was trying to satisfy–Food, mental stimulation, Four Fates–Can’t sleep–Fear, also–present now–Does the Black Mouth of Not Quite Can’t threaten to eat my few tears–Doomed man‘s waiting room –a sick man–Spill rain–Isn’t helping–what, I’m so tiny –drips wetting world can’t go up–I stand at NO–It is only south of my own comfort of fleshly patterns what the dream continues to breathe–say to me?–The stimulation I remember there–Otherwise rightly all gentleman take the dirt nap. A sick man’s exhilaration left asshole plunking note of the rim Job–again and again–boot to tuneless instrument breaking me like some enemy and digging me slowly Doomed man, again and again, a sick man–tuneless instrument asshole of like some enemy Rim Jobbing me slowly in the boot–minutes to go thud by–Breaking my Aim–Am I Being in death –I’m apparently no Great High–social misfit–only a steady society –waiting on the great official and Time is me snapping down that really facing and digging MY World?–Not sure I’m ever sufficiently stable–I’ve ever the possibility and well, just to find and EXIT.

Being in death –I’m apparently no Great High–social misfit–only a steady society –waiting on the great official and Time is me snapping down that is stabbed poor neck in half. Chest as throat –cast me deeper then I’ve ever been into any Hell Known–Or, nothing–An end to see but am not in the interim to deal with what cannot seem–Crazy–An End to Me.

Last night I dreamed I was being held captive–Last thing I know of young girl standing in a dilapidated house –reeked of mould suspended from a wall–FORWARD IMAGES OF GARBAGE–CAPTIVE BY AN ELECTRIFIED FLOOR–family of inbred glimpsed–sleeping in the rooms of creeping–the Heal –Being held captive–The heated house to my dead mould and filth and progressed being held quite grey–Sleeping in the night I dreamed rooms of where–Being held captive creeping–Finally mutants make a run seemingly forever–Next I know (corners and distance) she was a street in use seemed to belong watching a grandmother but on a television –some trick as the rewind and fasted –Everything was Hitler and electricity–”CAN’T YOU CASTRATE PRICK, PENIS, AND GROW A PAIR? DON A BLONDE WIG , DRESS, AND LEARN TO TURN LETTERS?”

America is mere doubtful–If the human sex/crime functions with cowardice when functioning with no morals America is a dream space–It’s filth addiction potentialities are world in a box visions nurtured–Dream, moralizing, dream–Arrest progress and fucked by the synapses–realized from fabric of your amusement–A materializing television odyssey –Dream Cops–cringing, pissing, stepping into what comes to here where commercialized born and reality replicates–illusion cops seek world in a dream –Potential matter–flat foot of a fairy downloaded four.

Diabolus in pink–I am shot to the gills with love for the matter where the world comes down, exploding in visions and dreams that hurt the insides of my eyelids–where is my mind going?–I can’t see any light at the end of this particular tunnel–So I am going down into a kind of psychic pit, can’t seem to restrain myself when the deep anxiety comes over me–total fear in the flesh–not even fantasy can provide a decent escape–Am I being controlled?–I feel the fear of death sweep past me leaving the cold gibbers in my flesh–trapped and imprisoned I feel myself start to constrain my inward visions until they are all the same dull, no-color of grey as everything else in my life–no sense makes sense.