Bukkake for the misanthropic psychonaut soul.

This is the winter of our discontent. At times, snow falls, and at times, darkness. How much longer do i seek you, o proud and taciturn, house by house, door to door? A swarm of maggots for your corpse. How much longer, corner to corner, street by street? I dont care if you dont, I wont say it if you wont say it first, I advance to attack, your terrible armies with banners, you implacable cruel beast, I cherish that coldness which makes you even more beautiful, ha doo doo doo shaking like milk turning over blue. lets go to bed. Tahir ul maulvi had it pegged just right. So, to begin.

Strapped in, launching hyperstitial metatemporal probes, beta stage boosters at maximum thrust, guidance is internal, leaving terraspheric field in t minus eleven, ten, nine, nine, nine, eight, eleven, eleven is what it was like to see the face of my own stability, wearing shadows, the reflection of my own reflection distorted and eleven, nine, eight, seven, moving me with a sound, opening me within a gesture, eleven, holding a light, lead me through each gentle step, step by step, by inch by loaded memory, thine oils, the chief spices spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, til one and one are one, eleven im heading back home, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, four, four, four-ty six and two, eleven, eleven, ignition sequence starts, six five, four, three, two, one, supernaut!

(If i were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow; but I being poor have only my dreams, tread softly)

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples; for I am sick of love. A book of verses underneath the bough, a jug of wine, a loaf of bread- and thou beside me singing in the wilderness. In the cities, a Lovecraftian nightmare, all steel and concrete and ineffable horror, angles that bend and warp the mind which dares conceive of their reality. But nature does not use steel. Or sharp edges. Abandoning the established paradigm of construction, we must learn to recognize the patterns in the dust, in the death throes of every moth in every flame. Tracing the spirals of the moth smoke, we are confronted with eternity.
It is in our nature to seek out the unknown, to spiral out, to ascend and evolve. Past and present, we are all made of stars. Quod sum eris, we are all in this together now. As below so above. And beyond. Restoring sight to the blind watchmaker, we must be the eyes of God, not dead but dreaming, like Cthulhu who sleeps dreaming in R'lyeh. I'a! I'a! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. The goat with a thousand young waits below, and the great hunter, above. For us it is to seek beyond.

N=R*fp*ne * Fl*fi* Tc*L

And what is life? The criteria by which we judge our surroundings must be flexible, open to change. Without change, we stagnate, rot, and decay. The Earth heaves across the heavens, marking time, the grim meathook descending ever closer, swinging over all the rot and spoilage. As we pile it ever higher and deeper, we make a leprous, desperate grab at the high blue vault of the heavens, begging for a purge, a great upheaval of the continents, the cities, the filth. Im praying for rain. A black hole sun to wash it all away, all of the everything. We must needs the cleansing waters. There are no inbound messiahs like '. (int)$value . "' and c.categories_id = cd.categories_id 君達の基地は、全てCATSがいただいた。Prep launch codes u7#
and cd.language_id='" . (int)$languages_id ."' order by sort_order, cd.categories_name D4#@ 这是bukkake录影
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MANDALA#0: Possible thermal failure (MANDALA on fire ?)