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kind of hurt inside. Kind of slippery. Gooey. Phooey. Kind things happen as often as unkind. Thus average steep road lead the way or rather pave the step to somewhat higher.. Ground. And sure as heck, as birds flies when the wings are matured.. Bang! Bang! You’re flown to some kind of land that has not been landed before.. Adios.

das Gradiola

The heat.. Feline smell atop your hair. The cold, that burns thy holly flesh. Grind me O hollow fa routs.. Rum pam pa rum pam pa.. Sing me the melody of onset, of onslaught, of rums and wodkas. Papas breath akin to global meltdown.. The endless onomatopoeia.. Hahas..

New Widget Part deux

Run O Cryptic One.. Run like you never first had to learn to walk.. Be the biggest whatever you can. This broken arrows are not meant to hurt, off course. For that would denies everything that felt so nice from it at the very first place. Take a vow! then take a height! Every feet and and every foot steps shall not be forgotten by the relics of human err…

New Widget

This is tomorrow. This is today. The one that meets at the middle are nothingness in spawn. Made the ghost cries of sold madness. And the wolves dances with trolls. Are the evening cleared? The kidneys wait and test on mere strings of wondering.. and wandering.. and chimneys of salt trembles to the end of any subconsciousness alert.. alarmed.. surprised by the sound of time creaking to oblivion.. hurray!

Cough inside the head

have I learn anything from this trembling that shook the tremor out of me? To read the subliminal thoughts and hidden messages that spread troughout my veins? The pale color of my masochistic fiesta, runs like cheap stocking that I wear to hid my real countenance. I greet thee welcome o sorrow of the gloomy heart. Why does the quest only spread to catch more and mere questions? So sunk me in again in soliloquy, kinky, like Ike when he hits Turner on the face like a ramshack. I know I should and I could yet I still would.. Not. Now there’s a statement of a lame feet. Afar from real goal, aside from mentions. So where does all this neglectments went, o man with wench tits?

Humaine brain: no limitz!

why there’s a spot for the spotless? Because everyone’s too aware for themself. And to prove that, try have as many followers you can gather, and sooner or later your senses are growing more acute to the sound of soundless tambourinas. No longer spake any taboo, no more glitch on typhos, and hence: you started to write burden with your thumb. You started to feel that you are no longer mortal. You feel like you’re a naivette angel fought on the highest level of mortal kombat with the lowest form of avatars.

The burntdown of sass

There’s a gap in our horizon
No welcoming doormats
Swords are no pen and vice versa
So why those pages still burned to dust?

There’s fear in lonely caves
And who’s the cavemen?
The doors are shut and locked
Guarded by two smoking barrels
The windows are smashed
Thrown by stones of the stonehenges’ mind.

There’s a price for certainty in life
No thoughts, no dreams, turns are forbidden
And we learn as we get along
That no peace could stay for long.

–Udo. Late 2007–