Misfortune Needs No Soprano

I'm sitting and watching, and seeing that life is indeed not as plain as it seemed when I was a child. It's too complex for even university profs, who commit suicide in scores as if to compete with Indian medical students.

Scoring pot has become a dangerous and, more disruptively, odious chore because of the types involved.

Placed diagonally the sword is bound to pinch the most delicate of clavicles.

Why did they not listen, and do such things with what could be the very mirror we need? Something tells me that it is a mirror that we can live without if necessary. Someone will take us all out, us heathen marketers who dare to subvert truth...for silvered golden paths. Isn't urine golden?

A night in white satin armour we need, I call all cars to bring to me. A season so steeped in foreshadowed remains is a better alternative to the ghosts that are yet to come. Every Christian name amongst them cannot hide the darkest blood of all; they are the scumbag of the world, our creations from millions of years of bandied thought unmodulated by the future.

To have an Uncle Pussy.

(Image source: HBO)