My Type
Love
❤️
... Opposite the middle of the delta, at the distance of thirty or forty miles from the coast, a deep submarine valley occurs, called the "swatch of no ground," about fifteen miles in diameter, where soundings of 180, and even 300, fathoms fail to reach the bottom. […] As the mud is known to extend for eighty miles farther into the gulf, an enormous thickness of matter must have been deposited in "the swatch."
❤️ ...
I reverse engineer - Dr. Frankenstein seems reasonable - a Gysin cut-up back where it came from.
Chicken McNuggets replace aversion therapy meats, unable to tell its story.
An inevitable, antithetical "anti-type" delight at Happy Meal Toys.
Disproportionate phobias gently assess zombification tasks in search of historicles femmes avec les extremites to match using the boulevard de femme du sexe appeal
gem sites whose mine locations are used for applied futurity equations to prove finite limits of productivity.
Man makes meat rare, danger ghost.
Pain caused by actual loss, confiscation, amputation, or by decree requires special attention: without mediation, it becomes real.
The perfect ghost sees ghosts that it becomes.
Meat eats ghost animals.❤️ ...
Misogyny would not be fair in this case, as Dream Lovers, both Bobby Darin and Roy Orbison dreamed up, not for slaving from a galley, but for more pleasurable experience which neither she nor I will know until she is made, for better or worse.
Only for the purpose of easy explanation is 'she' explained so inartfully — and definitely not anything resembling partialism or cut-and-paste guessing, this beautiful doll, this #bjd, #poupee constructe, superior Barbie Doll, if truth be known, has already been brought to life as art.
Imagine a #Zefstyle #bettypage, #bowlcut extreme #girlmullet who stays on the Zef-side of the street, which is only peopled by equally extreme les femmes avec les extremites to match using the boulevard de femme du sexe appeal whose wardrobe is only the exterior which explains only half of the complexities, eccentricities, and inviting questions which Bob Dylan was prescient and 'Out of Time' enough through his march through this antique avenue, bushwhacking and deforesting what may be the only good quality of the CAT D-10 Bulldozer, a machine so single-minded that 'you don't drive a CAT, you operate it, if you're man enough, and God love them so, sometimes, woman-enough to operate it turning the overgrowth from impassable to austere and minimalist in the time it takes you to say,
"Heavy Metal don't mean Rock 'n' Roll to me,"
as Guy Clark so succinctly put it where he put it on that deep track album which no one except me and John Cash heard, and which now that they're dead, it looks like just me to remind myself of its brute, awesome, locomotive, swathmaking dozer-power hardcore motherfuckers who push it every day.
It is undeniable that Malcolm was a beacon of huge strength in his lifetime. He could connect with swaths of people when others could not.
2015 February 20, Jesse Jackson, “In the Ferguson era, Malcolm X’s courage in fighting racism inspires more than ever”, in The Guardian (London):
Bob and that other wild eyebrowed thing who haunts men and beds down women, more power to her, @caradelevingne, and this Cajun gator girl from #bayougauche, who is the only other who can call this highway hers, and drive it like an Autobahn with the radio on, from Munich to Karlsrhue in exactly the time those Nazi engineers, with extermination out of mind and out of the question, got up to, when that was all there was left to get up to, with the exception of the last holdouts who started a mini-Bavaria in Argentina, waiting for God-knows-who to come, and only being surprised when they did, and instead of the welcome to the New Germany steins raised to say Prost, they were their last ticket home, which left them one stop short of the final destination, planting them in that very exclusive jail in that very unusual town's prison of sorts, for their kind of sorts, the Hague, and no more Bratwurst for the best of the worst, would they see, slowly suiciding out or barely fighting out the spectacle that for some was relief and closure but for others the second worse thing they would ever suffer as they watched and heard what some did, what some denied and remembered how many escaped this trial and this Justice, and how many died ...
could only join her in rocking, unselfconsciously — except progeny, that aptly nonsensical Zef appellation whose usual representation was ordinal and hardly, if ever, nominal, the titular affectation, meaning something to her purposefully weird awesome parents who gave her the name Sixteen, to walk around, hate, be proud of, and finally come when she was called by it, @sixteenjones.
Add #Lanadelrey @fionaappleig #bhadbhabie pedigree, and a couple stray recessive-gened Jean genies, and you got an ideal Xmas present 🎁 for me.
❤️
Je fais de l'ingénierie inverse - même le Dr Frankenstein semble raisonnable - une coupe Gysin d'où elle vient.
Les Chicken McNuggets remplacent les viandes de thérapie par aversion incapables de raconter son histoire.
Un délice antithétique inévitable "anti-type" chez Happy Meal Toys.
Une phobie disproportionnée accède en douceur aux tâches de zombification à la recherche de sites de pierres précieuses historiques dont l'emplacement est exploité et appliqué à de minuscules futurités par des équations pour le prouver.
L'homme rend la viande rare, en voie de disparition, fantôme.
La douleur causée par une perte réelle, une confiscation, une amputation ou par décret nécessite une attention particulière: sans médiation, elle devient réelle.
Le fantôme parfait voit les fantômes qu'il devient. La viande mange des animaux fantômes.
Je suis toujours célibataire et je cherche une excuse pour faire de l'ingénierie inverse, même le Dr Frankenstein semble raisonnable, un puzzle désagréable mais parfait que Gysin et Burroughs ne pourraient pas découper, si vous voulez ou non, un poulet McNugget de la taille d'une bouchée, amalgame texturé hospice de facilement comestible, kid-palais acceptable, et l'antithèse des complexités à ma main, ce sont les solutions inexorables, inévitables, à ceux dont le `` type '' est l'antithèse du mien, le leur a été créé pour eux et d'autres de leur aversion pour le vrai McCoy, de leur plaisir au Happy Meal Toy, d'une phobie démesurée au réel et de leur refus de le trouver, le leur est artificiel, faiblement motivé par l'accessible et leur capacité à répéter ce qui est maintenant zombifiant et par cœur, la mienne est la recherche de l'exception, celle d'un genre, dont l'existence, bien que pas nécessairement prouvée maintenant, est réelle, historiquement enregistrée, sa rareté comme les fines pierres précieuses est finie et peut-être éteinte, c'est à ce moment que l'homme fait de la viande whic salut Au lieu d'être facilement avalé, il est plus rare, en danger, tabou et manqué comme si une douleur fantôme d'une amputation avait besoin d'attention ou de grattage, mais dans la nuit, quand j'essaye de le faire, il ne me reste qu'un fantôme, et même pas une douleur à apaiser. Ils mangent c'est parfait uniquement parce qu'ils ne le voient pas. Ils le mangent avant qu'il ne devienne de la viande. Quand sa viande et la nôtre n'est encore que animale.
