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who knows peter

I'm a flashing Tamagochi with orgasm guarantee a bulb that illuminates everything I am hyper-real or hyperboreal?
light illuminated I durchwechsle border and bellows the horizon commonly called nose and fly belonging to eat with each verpeil-item that I pick. It darkens and spätet colder and my klowand filled with trivialities.
entertain here and there I was enjoying myself and having a adornisten about his world-weariness and despair that all sit dull and threadbare.
oh dwindle our options because there are only multi-talented packs, you buy it you get to all the others. a dog, the life, no wonder this year.
verzweifgle but not love, it will all go a gang, if not more time-line but compliant surface is moving, or global?
it shakes and shakes and bites and not despondent as everything is moving towards nothing and the destruction is assimilated into a generalization without concrete cohesion.
unstructured entexistiert postwendnend are all of course everything then. point to.

"So is it's Marat / that for them the revolution / You have a toothache / and should be possible to draw the tooth and the soup is they scorched / excited they ask for a better soup / The one her husband is too short or she wants a longer / have a press shoe / the neighbor sees it more convenient / A poet can think of no verse / he desperately searches for new ideas / A fisherman has been diving for hours fishing in the water / why not a fish bites / How to get to the Revolution / and believe the Revolution will give them everything / a fish / a shoe / a poem / a new man / new wife / And they rush all the fittings / and then they stand there / and all is as it was before / the soup burnt / the verses botched / partners in bed / smelly and exhausted / and all our heroism / that drove us down into the sewers / can we put on the hat / If we do not have a "

rediscovered and, of course, false love, because circular, as always, nothing more, nothing, nothing, something and nothing and be so is justified in not of freedom.
jaja, gedankenjgefängnis, the heritage of cultural criticism. how happy but Nietzsche and Kierkegaard were living with their shitty the ran not necessarily a glanzvole dawn.
unfortunate that the poor of the eschatological now always have to refer forward to a more intensified.
close yawning in boredom for me today, the gates of cynicism.
will read this anyway nobody is indeed too long.

to

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then the journey continues. while elsewhere spoiled children existences, doubting yourself, which is world hunger generally large, which translates into high expectations to drive the shirts pink blossoms, delicate buds grow out just yet reached the winter stayed. may I hope that it is not too early. yet it is not Passover celebrated everything is in limbo. Some friends still believe conciliatory to have to point out my work would be to blame for discord and believe it would be done with conciliatory gutmenschelei without once more his own position to have thought through. then the same criticism if the person stays aware of blind spot and only the surface textures change. and the good person is suffering from communication disorders in the brain's own. then that is nunmal.
then I fly stories in, coil on out and in my head and develop the niedergeschreiben as interesting scenarios but never be laid Gersch rien, down I say, creeping down the ground and rotten then, while the everyday demanding slowly threatening to return. return to live in spite of cold and experience it, a conquistador discovering their own circumstances bring back into his own boat which was aimed at, and incorporate something new comes to the benefit of the mother church head.
live expand developing plans to pass through and flare up. no breathing space, history is made it goes ahead.
one thanks to the retarded, the news remained unabeantwortet of me waits out, you are not forgotten ghosts of a world far from me in my cinema, I go further because there is something to see.