IT IS OVER, OUR SEARCH IS DONE
When turpentine watermelons cross burning bridges made of snow, who is left to bask in the shade?
The night, in fine red robes, dancing through Day's pastures.
Hark! A vagabond patrols crimson waters from which the knave was born.
In the waters my reflection bends, your face a delirious poison for my heart, I give you my scorn.
Mirrors of arsenic spring forth from clockwork mountains.
"Oh Neptune", ejaculates Father Time, "your being so deep, so luscious, but I so wilting yet excited?
and your limbs breathe the desire that springs forth from me like fountains."
The fountain burst forth like a shower of flame.
The cucumber melted, as the coconut, in the chaotic spree of emotion.
Yes no single drop of lacrimosa was found in your heart.
Teen-age flowers press forth amidst an age of vegetables.
The villainous horseradishes know not of Fermat; thus is their dismay unreciprocated by the apples of our eyes.
"Don't yell melons of the theorem", said those of the pumkin [sic].
My card said nefast curry, but the leaflets were spreading on too thick.
Much like trees made solely from sodden newspaper advertisements.
"Ahoy! Ahoy!" The pirateers struck, tasting their candy beards.
Giraffes of tristesse, fall away from the expectant toenails!
Definite shards of chitin entice the grand foyer.
And here it lies with a stricken leg, the perfume staining the crimson snow.
The rose scented aroma stains the fresh winter air.
Scattering wind in the colorful sky that tampers with an instance of lush gravity.
With solemn embrace - as futility grasps that which is terminal.
The light air of mystery quaintly reaches the breath of millions.
A king stands tall, but without a crown, futility is his only worshiper.
futility, failure of all eternity, for he was so.
May he wellow [sic]: Forever knowing not his fate is his true punishment.
The kingdom laughs at the foolish king, but it is not so, for there is only me.
The poor sat there without revelation. Is this the true synergy?
For what are coins, if not but lumps of alloy?
For what is alloy, if not but lumps of a coin?
And the synthesis became: alloys coined and coins alloyed.
As only he may direct the splendor that the earth does see.
Smiling of ages through tears, as monstrosities battle ravens for love of the radish in me.
But the tears they exist only in my wasted youth, for the radish was never to be.
As the fountains of the Earth ceased to pour, and the ravenous hounds did chase the sea.
And so they flailed, consumed in vain by the crimson tides.
Gluttons, oh Gluttons! Why must you cast your sword aside for thus?
Ah.. I can see the love.. Stretching its hand through the monitor.. Onto my neck.
The cursed fingernails, long and sharp as death, did pierce skin.
Time builds a house of the rotting flesh and stale bones, the skins laid as carpets for the new day.
The cuticle's lament joined the spanish frog's croaking in the countryside.
Father decay, on beggars backs stride --
But are rags of the willing robes of the imprisoned?
"No!", he growled "My kin has not yet come to part of freedom."
"And at once", the regent spoke, "bring me my trowel!"
For the cold and damp chill of your love for my feet sends chills to my bowel.
"Shall I fetch it now?" asked the slaving slave.
Said the regent, "Defenestrate your drool instead, taffeta knave."
beggars tooth and icy cave, the kingdom of air to ashes laid
Lost, these lands..yet in it found wandering, this dreamer.
upon fleeting glimpses pondering, the lost soul confronted by wailing banshees screaming.
So deeply he dream'd wandering, of the paradise he hunted, yet it was but dreaming.
And he woke up paralyzed of the metaphor's unto which he dreamed.
Alas he found that it was not metaphors but similes of which he dreamed
Hands clenching. Oh reminisce flowing steady, shaking so wonderfully...this realization of the living.
For he was not dead as he thought, rather very much alive.
But he pondered, was he so much towards dead as he was alive?
I pondered using a chat client, using Google Calender instead of using the network start command. Do I just thow my Wii but not much to the machine?
And he besought the tower that split the kingdoms in twain.
The sled Ethan did coast along that frigid hill with his love appeared to him as though it were fate.
They love that you don't know anything west coast.
And that sixpence and a pound which you can never seem to hide.
You never have that. I seem to hide. See you in a can.
I'm wistful for the Rolodex salads of yesteryear.
Yet why did my passing seem like an eternity?
Wojjan, like if you did does not yet see it. Doesn't seem like I have why.
"GET OUT OF MY THREAD."
Cried the vanguard, voice likened to the ocean, as he brought his wrath upon the insolence before him.
"He looks like the ocean. He looks like the ocean. He looks like the ocean."
Wailed I, consumed by his rocking motion.
Remorse, pride and rage become one, driving force, this compelling of mine. Caution beams in the latters eyes as I set forth.
Let force for the eyes, and as you have become.
Pushed down against this tide of flame, so burned thoroughly yet with this strength he picks up yet again.
But what does he pick up? What do those cindered fingers feel amidst the cleansing flame?
His work. His memory.
The fragments become dust, dust becomes nothing.
He feels nothing. He is nothing.
Above all else, the passionate future he stood for once, submerge in the emptiness.
He cannot find it, these hands, forever charred with disgrace.
In a wistful, perhaps ironic sense, that this should be the only format of grace he ever feels.
Irony is, I'm going to format the nand and gc memory card. Work?
But little did he know, that soon,
his mind would be controlled by the powers of the satellite--
A prospect with orbital consequence.
If it's that important to you, as a consequence, flipnote took the old SD card to work with.
And it came to pass that sulphur could only be properly aired in meringue ponderings.
Through an ironic twist of events, her black sneakers were superb parents.
And skilled in the art of stealth too - right down to the sole.
Thus it came never a day friction would attempt to set them apart, though the comfort soaked through many seasons.
While plaintiff giraffe elope while courting defendants.
And as interest beckons and calls - neither compound nor simple, the minds of the many recluse far away, to muse again another day.
This has been the best thread to ever grace FG/R. You guys are great.