Everything starts off with an idea lately and then quickly gets diverted into some long lost scavenger ship of soul-sucking machines that whisk time when I want to steal it for myself, immersed in my own big little world til it gets too loud. And I have to change the channel on the big black Zenith.
A Genesis-sounding faux-cover-sound to The Seed You Sow Connects You to God and Supply? Like a hardware store for your soul.
Your seed connects you to God's supply He preached 3 weeks. Stayed in a motel. Somebody gave us money for food I challenged people to give $ 1,000. I gave him my cell, you tell me what happens at the bank. He planted a seed at the right place in the right time
Is it going to come off or do I just have to accept that this is my new body
Not a Love Story
That was what was on the penultimate Zenith tv.
The feng shui is sorely lacking in each location but this is particularly mind-numbing, with everything around the periphery around a big space between the twin beds to feature the never-vacuumed carpet.
Everything must be put on the floor in this scenario. It is not comfortable. It is an afterthought. The air conditioner has a switch I have never seen before to presumably control it, but it has its own thoughts on the subject.
The view is bird's eye crazies screaming dirty city du jour.
float margin bottom
both align center
Always CodeI can only presume it is because we are stupid.
What the nuclear arms deal with Iran really means
DING DING DING on the app on the phone
DRONE OF 405 Sepulveda Lane Blocked
See what I mean about time?
It flies by when doing things you want to do for your own life, but while on a completely meaningless job with pointless tasks where no one looks at your work, it stalls and goes by 1 second at a time, sometimes frame by frame. The days are excruciating and will be worse now, supposing I accept the fact that I stayed up because I was finishing my feelings on the subject that matters very little in the end, because, as per the story of my life, nothing will come of it.
The mundane will march on.
This was supposed to be a witty travel account but has turned into an ode to nihilism and
regrets over the tongue. The thought of carrying any more words anywhere beguiles the fusion of my want to be who I am version of hard knocks soul sacrifice and the side that just wants to leave.