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jonathonh
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jonathonh
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suicidal
Everyone has had a certain urge, one that permeates their being, the crosspollination of ideas of previous lives. why is it not the way I want I cannot comprehend this but any emotion too intense has made one feel this way.
vapor
The mists of time permeating us all we are vapor we are the sands of some forgotten rocks we broke open upon desolate terrible shores of hardness and became what we are.
bloomed
When I was young my father told me about the flowers how they would bloom every year, then die off. their whole existence predicated on offering up themselves for sensory approval, here we are to see the progeny eternal.
steady
the brash line the thread steady steady whooooaaaaaa the cargo dropped like in some hokey action film constancy steadyness
instant
flash of light gone smash the lights gone switch the light on pitch it right its gone home run youtube so smooth i give it 8 out of 10 would lie to you?
balloon
The expansion of particles within a ontaines space the sphrwk sphwrk of rubber the explosion ifound a balloon at the park wrapped around a jungle gym bridge
joyous
joy is joyous joyless jon wish joy being the being entire joy is entirely from within i am the architect and the artist painting the canvas entirely with red and heat here we are then then then because i am aroused for this or that i think i am entirely withdrawn now no part of me genuine now its untrue the spectator in me is joyous the leader is toying with suicide the leader is toying with becoming a god he is joying a ploy the joy joy the joy joy joy the joy the joy i am entirely what i am and then i am not that i am joy i am hate i am joy i am love i am what i am how i am now i am this i am how i feel i am how i thin i am how i sit and sin i am the slight ache and the crippling pain we are joy is and i am the universe contains joy what we call good but we do not wish to die yet is there any difference from life we do not live life fully so i believe most wont die death fully and joy of joys, my joy who is my joy the greatest joy the spectator the greatest joy of the architect and the artist to create entirely and forget to create then destroy the vacillation of joy and the contrast that keeps it alive.
sleeved
To cover up our arms A place to house the arms Striped sweaters everyone has sleeves a man without sleeves sexual exhibitionary a man with sleeves repressed puritan you could say anything with such conviction.
pixels
pixies! little magic people that cover us with their little maic dust makes me sneeze what do you believe - that we are composed of thousands of tiny spots? - we a afterimage of tiny things as is everything.
homeless
Nowhere to be My home is the earth and the place I am at Home is within and without where we find ourselves again
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