Thinkless Outwritings


Collapsing roots drop the hand some say like a sweat palming culture of bottler blinding of a style stuporred age scrambler clung to a blunt shanked sight only seen and absorbed by his dead self a slipped member of The Crowd who dropped that sober consensus back at the platform's lip leaving the stumped to fuck squint observers to pan over the tumbling and blind hot excruciates and the headline is cataracted by JFM-511 in his slag exhuming heaper ego continuously striking the button on neon runs of the emperic new thread | that all will see no rust or dust or lifting of blameless edges | that all will buy the pushed flush of prime genetics stamping postured impressions into the covering surfaces and into the cornered witnesses through insistent reproductive claims and the old campaigns of mirror fed centre binged power | but | in their blink clarity The Crowd can observe nothing other than the reversed truths as their insentient arcing trips the impartial switch that can only pick out incongruence from the lineouts that JFM-511 stands in so desperately unmatched and sunk in his unsighted immersive self selfing filch and frankly now looking like a fucking joke