Life is a dull splat of irritation
These days, I seem to wane under the validity of my own amusement. Speckles of sun, from deep in the sky, cower down on me as if laughing at my degredation. And amidst all this valuptious scheduling, I have no fuckin idea what is going on. Nor have I the conotation of my own cerebrial impulses. Lest thee be forbidden to ride the electrifying web of calibration, thy multon brain be beqwethed to the depths of a spellchecker.
Thankyou, please come again.