First comes the sugar, then comes the vine, her name was Daisy and she almost drove me crazy. Don't drive away the disruptions if there's a plum in there somewhere. Interstellar rifts guide the positive readings. Daytime is the new zen garden. Somnolence avoids this place thanks to the blockage made possible by bedazzling breaks, movie matinees and the absence of the lesser of two evils as your choices. Brash pulses of tranquility come from bullseyed occipital stimulation. Add croque monsieur and the picture is complete. Finding Doctor Livingstone is seriously right in front of our faces. Zeroing in on the satisfactor is the real number to play. I take things into my own hands and restructure the foundation. All hail the power of persuasion and keeping in tune. This is where I explain what my words are substitutes for secretions depicts. If the need to expel something, the desire to feel it like I did, the necessity of sack-didja-wee-a-little of the sap of life promulgating the intention to reveal once and for all - - then alot of kisses on the bottom, I'll be glad I gottem.
Invert any attention whore attributes you may be flashing. Expose yourself to your idol to update the collective. Stabilize at the point where if you are called you can be inspection ready in a matter of minutes. Spread your layers to enhance the reception which minimizes the bumps. Lucidity is next to happy ending.
Find your inner Timex and get your bezel popped.In the midst of the money shot of jackpot or not you complicate the cognition with too much "when I was a kid". The calcified you is pretty much work with what you got driven. There's more going on here that can't be shrugged off by a little dead spots here and there won't kill you kinda attitude. All covered. Finding your own bite is essential in the arena of hoi polloi. You figure rich powerful centurions test their teflonism now and then because unused liquidity is like laying a stand-by on a quake-with-thunder trouser flange. My bite is under my door mat essentially for OMFG occurrences.
The psephologist who tweets is like the jag off who wears steel wool gloves. It's the social network derailing the elections, not just the money. The romantic who turns into a realist is a concession to the moralists. Just a phase. Looking back is wifi camera footage compared to the power of love. Twilight time.
So the rap used to be he's a "shadow of his former self" but even that was excessive. Deep freezing that anomaly called pseudo-wunderkind still allows sanctioned access without the exasperation a shitty cocktail table book brings on. This is why sticking with this cloud selfie helps get in position for the next starter gun shot. Until then it's all about pleasurize even if a little plagiarize leads to hypnotize story wise.