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Sunday, October 10, 2004

in a bit of little time, with coarse rock salt dreading next to aimless pattern, while the friends indicate the rapture pose, possible sanctity in a language comes from growth, it's a bitter little time of voting haze and collaborative greed, judging from the system tank, all the dozing love slips from 1967 into an ether-informed purple chute of ringing sounds until you vote again, a gain in sight along the branch water breath, sleep after the all over, what's this suppose to mean?

Comments:
Good post
 
Bon jour. Le temps amer que je vois.

Chercher le temps et quelques comment terrien ici.

Blog agréable.

Je devrai revenir plus tard.
 
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