This is a letter to the future.
No, it can't be that important - it puts too much pressure on me. One day when I am really hungry I will be able to go to Joey's Only for the Tuesday night fish and chips. That and the billion dollar museum of the bible is in the air tonight. These billionaires are throwing money and not asking any questions. These people think that they are building a great mega-church and making a bountiful trove of treasures for their flock, but they are breaking international law. The news changed now, so I don't know what they are going to talk about next.
People's choice is the righteous indignation. Tomorrow will be a good day of writing and watching the news. These notes are not worth the salt they are watching. These notes are of soft dreams and major thoughts. I have the righteous blame to light and they have notions of crying might and I have threats made for modern light and they have treats made to know of the fight and I am a soda and you are a bear and you are a running joke within my matter.
Just be and is be. Then it will be okay.
The reference to turmoil.
I hope Max doesn't ask for those poems, because I haven't written them.
Thanks to the eons of massive weight that takes the hopes towards the morning sensors
These are the rakes of light
These are the weapons that watch me
I turn towards them with hope, there is little faith for the mortals
These are the wretches of war
Perhaps that could be a poem.
Well he doesn't want to, so I will drink a glass of wine by myself. It is kind of interesting how quickly that feeling changed. It is Friday night, there is fun to be had tonight. Where is my fate? We are marked by the masked men, who watch in the night. We have happiness, but the fear is taking the tasks of war and smashing them against various fences. These people want their intrigue, but only because of the water that needed them to fear the reality. Thankfully the hope is belonging to the water marked pride. I have to belong to the hopeful sorts, and because of this I will happily grasp at straws.
The days have become short, but it is still warm out.
The cold careful shepherd watches me. That warmth is a realistic one, tired for the real world. These people must belong to the better world, and I must have to belong with the better worlds that mark my mind on the walls that watch my heaven and the saving grace is the I leave like the world that watched me. I have to belong to it, because I have nothing less left to find and if even the desperate ones find me then I have the shapes that remain with the weapon and find the beat to write the whole book. That really was the key, wasn't it?
It is cold today.
Just that, I guess.
Someone told me they had never felt the lake so hot. I don't know if I'm worried, this could be some sort of cycle that is changing over the course of thousands of years, so I'm not concerned with the end times like that lady was. She was even concerned with zombies coming to eat our faces because they had taken bath salts. That is a strange thing. I wonder if those bath salts sooth people in a bath, or if they were just a crazy drug. I guess some things I will never know.
This is not an article, but it could be. This will never make me money, but do you know what will save me money, stopping smoking. Do it for the light, make it so that you have seen it. Make the steps that I still calm and betterment into you. Do good always. Play a stock market game. Enjoy yourself.
This could maybe work for the closed captioning thing. It would be good to try this for that, it could work. Maybe I will be a better person then I thought I could be. I am sad because I cannot belong to any group, it seems. I want to really enjoy life and make a permanent difference and make world peace, that could be nice. I belong with nothing in them, I want to change the world for the positive. I want to write something that is used for hindered people everywhere. What I need is money.
I will save over 250$ per month when I quit smoking. This will be worth it for my health as well. I should not buy any more tobacco for the sake of the yellow scales tongue that if left to my own devices I will definitely gain. It terrifies me, I am terrified with the real reactor who what where when why?
Now, days later, I don't know what to do. She is not a smoker. She is a real person with ideas and thoughts, but life is silly and I know now that really, in the real world, I am here and ready to belong and learn. There is no way to make sex more interesting than to restrict it. Make sure that the real world is looking when the reality and thoughts become reality and beliefs and therefore we move forwards, ready to belong to a great kind of person… Where do we stay here? What do I do? Am I high, or just hiding the real book that is below me?
How do you write a book out of this thing, so that there is a sensible form of disaster made to believe in writing and soviet letters. "The Society Letters" are grasped from this type of space. I must make something like "The Society Letters," the blasted work is the greatest book ever written. (In case the idea that a I am trying to be as good as the title of my book may be humorous and a good idea to create a theme of desperation would be to always be hoping that the book I am writing about the characters is as good as another book called the Society Letters, when in fact the Society Letters is the name of the book that was written by the narrator of my new book, but if it doesn't come to fruition this evening in this file then I should say that I never have seen a book with the title "The Society Letters," although it would be a good title for a book that I was trying to write a book like.) It really holds the room together.
Confusion towards the letters is the Society's cross, but what, you may ask is the Society? The court outside the the Society looks like the other ones on the block. The Society meets in a stuffy old room near the Capital Building of Festin, perhaps - but the only real thing about it is the ghosts of the men who walked it. It is no longer a place to most of them, Including Horus Gogeb and other people just as fancy. Remember the Dog is an end in itself, not just a bunch of human pleasures. This is the beginning to humane moral standards.
The haiku is like
A rainy notion for us
Because we are there
You will just be a person made from possible humans and then you will fall from the earth. Then you will fall from the sky. Then you will fall from the earth. Then you will fall from the sky.
What is this? This world we inhabit that is fearfully blessed to speak to the mortal kind of people. People need others to help them sometimes. It is good to do so, in case one day you are the other kind of person, then you can do that same thing. For some, it is the light of the day. Some others cannot get out of bed.
I don't know what is happening anymore, I feel like I have nothing to say. This is my radio show, this is the palace on the airwaves that I let the fine listeners feel like a rope of silk that dances for the breathes of air. That living kind of ghostly waif, the wanderer. I believe the day will come soon that will allow me to create the kind of art that I wish to, but for now. Here is a poem I wrote a long time ago while either being secretly drugged by a thief or under the spell of some sort of poltergeist.