The All-Telling Tale : Mythic development with intent to distribute

Keeping conscience codified and corruptible.

time_2551_300Self-annhilation couldn't be more communicable. Don't trust the breaks in thought; they are expandable.

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I’d rather linger on your skin than this keyboardever again, I promise you.

The praxis of inconsequence

The virtual validation of benediction can be so basic to the reach of rendezvous when the circumclusion is of no credibility to calculate the clause of predestination unless I plot the dot to dot denouement of my undoing as evident as undone is still inherent.

Tag:# I’m IT.

I am deft with no determination whatsoever to discover where my castle walls were keeping the mystery of me withheld. Go through my archive and deliberate the states where I should wait for words that better animate me in my delivery. So… the WORD sits, contra-spaciated, and I am better animated in videography possibly. But I’m not paid for obviously…. just memory where I may have been observed with no credit for future sustainability that I have suffered too far to account for. Find me in your facility to search for me endlessly between commas. 

Thanks. Love, Rikki.

and all your sight of sanctimony trained on me, to be your bread, leavened, and heaven send a harem of my entity

to light midnight in your eyes, maybe

to desire me

and deliver my Kingdom Came

most personally. 

I’ll just say, I fucked God. (allegedly)

Rou-Ga-who?

chase me to the keepsake of casualty
and fake me
so demurely
that etiquette became dull in your academy
and sleep me sultry

and seemless

Make Me
Invitation only

So that I danced in your sacred face
the questionable eternity
And enter unto me your command of humanity
and tear me from the totality that you harness within me.

So mighty your sword slaying words that leave your hands free …
to tarnish me so touchlessly tactile, and virile

as you were
true as history denies its knowing me.

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“I’m the best t…

“I’m the best tree to rock around, that’s right, on time… I’m tricky…

Edit myself? WHY?

I write more than I’m willing to re-read.
I wish i had an automatical feed on quota.
If that were to be, i could finish eternity as it “were”
stumped on the speculative specification of a conundrical iota.

Say WHAT?

Go ahead and try to compute me comprehensively, and I may dare you the curve of where I keep the earth so round and calculate the quarks between sparks of enlightenment? 

ImageAll my condescernance is positing a place where my thoughts may race before you, with no medium to moderate me key to key, just my mouth talking me where I was kissed, and fed the fruition of my urgency to need where I become all-needfulness satiated with the sum of what is always  ”given” in the equation but never cancels out the progress of “irrationality”. 

So succumbs the conquest of words that turn bright so dim at the sight of him. 

There may have never been a deity so imaginary; just an indigenous reflection of a fallacy. 

Diaphanously, with no rebuttal of reality trained to thwart my unendedness.

I hate forever. 

I can only aim so far that Destiny randomizes where I retract to inspect how deliberate my uncertainty.

Calibrate me in cosmological constraints and measure my manicure, maybe; or my inimical aspect of time-taking me so immeasurable that I construct my inevitable occurance of facsimile where I may have been more conceptively cognizant than inconstruably constant; I surmise memetical membranes that remember me remarkably brilliant anyway. 

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The coast is clear from ghost to holy who walks the light of night and calculates the coming doom. It’s only Thursday.

I keep your conscience cultivated the symptoms of society lackheed of fancy and quept docile in lucidity. Pharmacological constraints can be morbid to cosmological constructs that deem subduction is due, whenatever plausible are you at your “make” for Fate to pull its date that you fall beside yourself and plate yourself the chatter of matter that buys you nothing but a doting savior. Save your tickets worth of time taking me told and dress your dreams on where I were to refund you the cost of killing me, quota the constant of cosmic currency. All I need is resting within the messages I send to <code

The parallax was a prospect of where I might be coordinately to cope with ALL HPEscope of KIznGDOM CA’R
Fuck it. I’ll walk. It’s not that far. Maybe dizzy myself a spell away from rising to remember nothing that I ever led to leave me so disordinately functional as faculty shall court me .
And soar, I shall to the source of now

The lull of a late indenture. Circle me until I find the center.

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Lost is where you were

Lost is where you were

Keeping me your mirror

The synthesis if systems in a diaphanous conciliatory algorithm store my data collectively dispersive based in postulated pixels postponed to doomsday

The frequency of gz relavent to pztmj are anticipated in gallons if acrylics are anti-coagulated when applied in terse directions of formatted appropriations of vexing verticality.

The sleep that was dreamed instead of dreamt

IMG_5372You may have to drag me from this bed to convince me that life is better had between blinks. And dreaming is so brutal between masks of eventualess renewal. No person I may ever be, but illusion. No makeup may make believe portraying me; just the countenance of where our eyes last met before you took me to that eternal end again and again that I loved you.

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When the wedding came to be…

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I was the open answer to your door…

A phone call and a quantifiable question.

Symptoms of success are laboring me the letters that make words sustain value. I might rather stab a tree with an ink pen to save you the energy of reading me if I could ever make that perfect point.

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!?

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So I become an exponent of everything I wait to say,;
Streaming the pheromones of zones I might fog off key. If there was nothing else I wanted to be. .. It favors indifference over mania.. Crudely expediting my f. Bayou Dularge I’d logistically determined. My alibi is cruci in the undetermined sot

You haunt me in my hollowness to have me heal the heart of nothingness conceived. And bereaved is the consequence of love still unending and pending my desires upon post after post with no postage anymore; just the store of laborious repression of a past still becoming present and every symptom of a pre existing condition… That was very always you .

a point from beginning to end; still pointless?

You rather not know my ends to need the novelty of knowledge made known to publish me~ a full-fledged story.

Written by and by into structure and apotheosis of a plausible promise.

3rd person omniscience is now obsolete. useless, crediting consciousness open-ended, to estimate eternity in any order necessary to cohesively construe a story as profound as relativity.

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