Fiction. The taste of garbage. What passion!
Yeah I kind of played these pc games.
If I don’t remember incorrectly I think I did some of the GIF’s.
Awake. Chased by shadows. Confusion. The prosperous time. The non surrealistic dream. Focused. Dreamless.
Affirmed the preessentialist movement. Standing against a crowd. The mildly placed elegancy in time of such a dire informality a cat wouldn’t estrange it’s bait. The vindicate mother lease. I rarely frequent such areas. This time they really did wan’t an appraisal. In manner of speech I managed to keep them down by following deemed souls to their graves. The prosperous new dawn. Affirmed riots. No reason to abandon sanity. As honesty prevails the instant time of which lies flower. The custom of advice seemed appologetic of nature. Now this all took place in the land of the sun. I ventured there and saw a second sun. The darker. In clear-voyant stairs the pictoresque ability to assume evidence seemed prosperous an ability. Very much like admiration. Fictively speaking of course the dream of these stairs. Vile and monstrous, without anything such as a tint of mistake. The polite distant perfecy de facto. To commemorate the improper casual sinister smile of lost lives. In my place known as hell. For a while there I was confused with the enemy. To my ancestors I would like to describe the horror and preventual gleems of these trips to hell. Very much of known. The traditional liot found scarce. A scarecrow in his late teens parloring gates to limit the fortunate ones. This time I saw my cathegorical denial scheme showed to the audience as of a priority to ammuse the mass with someone less fortunate. I discovered my road layed in poverty. For I whom once had known wealth. Servants washing my hands. Swift dazzling mansions. With the appology of fame for a reasonably protectionate in vane shoe shiner somewhere. The fiction of thought refrains to permanent denial. I dreamt once again of distance and the nature of fools. In a portrait of a favour to the devil himself the vindicate mother seemed a liot compared to her flame. The disdained informal ventures of arrousal. I could not process the memory of clouds. In favourable pity the framed fame that followed. The centennial joy. The skies over the beach and the furious thunder. The limit of tendencial waters. A proverbs atonement. The incites of command. Que jeune que vivrè. The passion of fervent lore. The infamous surreal lights from the inside of pubs. Late night glory and misfortune dancing into destiny. The audience can not see the play. Into the sustainably lowered voice of this clown. The insolent betrayer of paradise. The visions dear. I know to hold verity in my hands. To obey this freedom come late of knowledge without judgement. Fashion. Tieing my shoes. He is an early riser. Forgiven not of freedom thus what is late. The intentions are polite though the infamy is of shame. Shame of vanity.