Winston Churchill

Looping verses, and the secondary traction.

I just got interrupted by a phone call, asking how to change light bulbs.

Anyway, life has been going pretty good.

I've got some randomness stored up, so here it goes.

The tired flagging elephant left itself around the surfer, and regrew a heap of the finest Mexican tequila. Slamming of directives and the placement of tweeters happened to find the kit wherewithal reluctantly planning a new episode of the tinniest yellow bears. The roses protruded into the finest lavender window panes, and the ice cream sea. A Caribbean finding was black as the choicest cut of a fresh carpet paver. Way down yonder to the fluoride apoplexy, a guacamole-covered decrepit played a sorrowful lunch-time mush. Support pillars, a fortification of unprecedented nucleonics, played themselves out in a real-time field of intrinsically northwest propellers. Led by a courageous sidereal port, meat shorn by long ages of inconsolable Wheatabix.

Where is my mind?

I find an incomparable solace in the knowledge that people are actually listening to what I say every once in a while.

I find an incomparable solace in the knowledge that what I say has no meaning, at the same time that I know what I say can change things forever.