does the black suited spider-man take time to think words for nothing can be totally spontaneous as the little line moves and blinks, yet the bright yellow light stimulates my rods and shows me wet drops of hydrogen-oxygen. the insight of a crazy man-corpse is nothing more than a short piano song which is sometimes annoying like a pop-rock sheet of organized sound.
why must morning come when the big anti-blue stripe ball is not on the bright internal-reality machine? sleep is not for me on nights on crazy celebrations especially, but the daytime is like a mircowave that puts meat and bacteria to sleep. inspired by those who aren't flawed and yet have symptoms of schizophrenia, schizophrenics aren't afraid of no-ghost with a brown hat crying to ren and stimpy.
why must song sound sick like man trying to tell woman to accept rape? uh, too much sense in that which can be nonsensical if the hair cells cannot receive the organized frequiencies of the noise from the Toadies. the Stigma in my wallpaper and whitness beckons to the skinflap on my looker to be like a fat dude. the sound of popping from a hole in the skin is funny to most people, and smelly too. do i wanna die?